CASTLE  NOWHERE 


LAKE-COUNTRY    SKETCHES 


BY 


CONSTANCE  FENIMORE  WOOLSON 

AUTHOR  OF  "EAST  ANGELS"  "ANNE"  "FOR  THE  MAJOR"  ETC. 


NEW    YORK 
HARPER    &    BROTHERS,    FRANKLIN    SQUARE 


CONSTANCE  FENIMORE  WOOLSOFS  WORKS. 


EAST  ANGELS.  A  Novel.  12mo,- 
Cloth,  $1  25. 

ANNE.  A  Novel.  Illustrated,  pp.  iv., 
540.  12mo,  Cloth,  $1  25. 

FOR  THE  MAJOR.  A  Novelette.  Il 
lustrated,  pp.  208. 16mo,  Cloth,  $1  00. 


CASTLE  NOWHERE.  Lake  Country 
Sketches,  pp.  386.  16mo,  Cloth, 
$100. 

RODMAN  THE  KEEPER.  Southern 
Sketches,  pp.  340.  16mo,  Cloth, 
$100.  (Nearly  Ready.) 


PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 

Any  of  the  above  works  sent  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any  part  of 
the  United  States  or  Canada,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


Copyright,  1875,  by  JAMES  R.  OSGOOD  &  Co. 


Stereotyped  by  WELCH,  BIGBLOW,  &  Co.,  University  Prese,  Cambridge. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

CASTLE  NOWHERE     .......  7 

PETER  THE  PARSON      ......  99 

JEANNETTE  -    .         .         .         .                  .         .         .  136 

THE  OLD  AGENCY        .         .         .         .         .         .  176 

MISERY  LANDING      .......  208 

SOLOMON      ........  236 

WlLHELMINA      ........  270 

ST.  CLAIR  FLATS  .         ......  304 

THE  LADY  OF  LITTLE  FISHING  351 


M123571 


THREE  of  these  stories  originally  appeared  in  the  At 
lantic  Monthly,  two  in  Scribne^s  Monthly,  and  one  each  in 
Harper's  Magazine,  The  Galaxy,  and  Appleton's  Journal. 


CASTLE    NOWHERE. 


"1V~TOT  many  years  ago  the  shore  bordering  the  head 
-L \l  of  Lake  Michigan,  the  northern  curve  of  that 
silver  sea,  was  a  wilderness  unexplored.  It  is  a  wil 
derness  still,  showing  even  now  on  the  school-maps 
nothing  save  an  empty  waste  of  colored  paper,  gen 
erally  a  pale,  cold  yellow  suitable  to  the  climate,  all 
the  way  from  Point  St.  Ignace  to  the  iron  ports  on 
the  Little  Bay  de  Noquet,  or  Badderknock  in  lake 
phraseology,  a  hundred  miles  of  nothing,  according  to 
the  map-makers,  who,  knowing  nothing  of  the  re 
gion,  set  it  down  accordingly,  withholding  even  those 
long-legged  letters,  "  Chip-pe-was,"  "  Eic-ca-rees,"  that 
stretch  accommodatingly  across  so  much  townless  ter 
ritory  farther  west.  This  northern  curve  is  and  always 
has  been  off  the  route  to  anywhere ;  and  mortals,  even 
Indians,  prefer  as  a  general  rule,  when  once  started, 
to  go  somewhere.  The  earliest  Jesuit  explorers  and 
the  captains  of  yesterday's  schooners  had  this  in  com 
mon,  that  they  could  not,  being  human,  resist  a  cross 
cut  ;  and  thus,  whether  bark  canoes  of  two  centuries 


8:  V   .  V  :  ;••":  :.  CASTLE  NOWHERE. 


tf  propellers  of  to-day,  one  and 
all,  coming  and  going,  they  veer  to  the  southeast  or 
west,  and  sail  gayly  out  of  sight,  leaving  this  north 
ern  curve  of  ours  unvisited  and  alone.  A  wilderness 
still,  but  not  unexplored  ;  for  that  railroad  of  the 
future  which  is  to  make  of  British  America  a  garden 
of  roses,  and  turn  the  wild  trappers  of  the  Hudson's 
Bay  Company  into  gently  smiling  congressmen,  has  it 
not  sent  its  missionaries  thither,  to  the  astonishment 
and  joy  of  the  beasts  that  dwell  therein?  Accord 
ing  to  tradition,  these  men  surveyed  the  territory,  and 
then  crossed  over  (those  of  them  at  least  whom  the 
beasts  had  spared)  to  the  lower  peninsula,  where, 
the  pleasing  variety  of  swamps  being  added  to  the 
labyrinth  of  pines  and  sand-hills,  they  soon  lost 
themselves,  and  to  this  day  have  never  found  what 
they  lost.  As  the  gleam  of  a  camp-fire  is  occasion 
ally  seen,  and  now  and  then  a  distant  shout  heard 
by  the  hunter  passing  along  the  outskirts,  it  is  sup 
posed  that  they  are  in  there  somewhere,  surveying 
still. 

Not  long  ago,  however,  no  white  man's  foot  had  pen 
etrated  within  our  curve.  Across  the  great  river  and 
over  the  deadly  plains,  down  to  the  burning  clime  of 
Mexico  and  up  to  the  arctic  darkness,  journeyed  our 
countrymen,  gold  to  gather  and  strange  countries  to 
see  ;  but  this  little  pocket  of  land  and  water  passed 
they  by  without  a  glance,  inasmuch  as  no  iron  moun- 


CASTLE  NOWHERE.  9 

tains  rose  among  its  pines,  no  copper  lay  bidden  in  its 
sand  ridges,  no  harbors  dented  its  sbores.  Thus  it  re 
mained  an  unknown  region,  and  enjoyed  life  accord 
ingly.  But  the  white  man's  foot,  well  booted,  was  on 
the  way,  and  one  fine  afternoon  came  tramping  through. 
"  I  wish  I  was  a  tree,"  said  to  himself  this  white  man, 
one  Jarvis  Waring  by  name.  "  See  that  young  pine, 
how  lustily  it  grows,  feeling  its  life  to  the  very  tip  of 
each  green  needle  !  How  it  thrills  in  the  sun's  rays, 
how  strongly,  how  completely  it  carries  out  the  inten 
tion  of  its  existence  !  It  never  has  a  headache,  it  — 
Bah!  what  a  miserable,  half-way  thing  is  man,  who 
should  be  a  demigod,  and  is  —  a  creature  for  the  very 
trees  to  pity  !  "  And  then  he  built  his  camp-fire,  called 
in  his  dogs,  and  slept  the  sleep  of  youth  and  health, 
none  the  less  deep  because  of  that  Spirit  of  Discontent 
that  had  driven  him  forth  into  the  wilderness  ;  probably 
the  Spirit  of  Discontent  knew  what  it  was  about.  Thus 
for  days,  for  weeks,  our  white  man  wandered  through 
the  forest  and  wandered  at  random,  for,  being  an  excep 
tion,  he  preferred  to  go  nowhere ;  he  had  his  compass, 
but  never  used  it,  and,  a  practised  hunter,  eat  what 
came  in  his  way  and  planned  not  for  the  morrow. 
"  Now  am  I  living  the  life  of  a  good,  hearty,  comfortable 
bear,"  he  said  to  himself  with  satisfaction. 

"  No,  you  are  not,  Waring,"  replied  the  Spirit  of  Dis 
content,  "for  you  know  you  have  your  compass  in  your 
pocket  and  can  direct  yourself  back  to  the  camps  on 


10  CASTLE  NOWHERE. 

Lake  Superior  or  to  the  Sault  for  supplies,  which  is 
more  than  the  most  accomplished  bear  can  do." 

"  0  come,  what  do  you  know  about  bears  ? "  answered 
Waring;  "very  likely  they  too  have  their  depots  of 
supplies,  —  in  caves  perhaps  — ' 

"  No  caves  here." 

"  In  hollow  trees,  then." 

"You  are  thinking  of  the  stories  about  bears  and 
wild  honey,"  said  the  pertinacious  Spirit. 

"Shut  up,  I  am  going  to  sleep,"  replied  the  man, 
rolling  himself  in  his  blanket;  and  then  the  Spirit, 
having  accomplished  his  object,  smiled  blandly  and 
withdrew. 

Wandering  thus,  all  reckoning  lost  both  of  time  and 
place,  our  white  man  came  out  one  evening  unexpect 
edly  upon  a  shore;  before  him  was  water  stretching 
away  grayly  in  the  fog-veiled  moonlight ;  and  so  suc 
cessful  had  been  his  determined  entangling  of  himself 
in  the  webs  of  the  wilderness,  that  he  really  knew  not 
whether  it  was  Superior,  Huron,  or  Michigan  that 
confronted  him,  for  all  three  bordered  the  eastern  end 
of  the  upper  peninsula.  Not  that  he  wished  to  know; 
precisely  the  contrary.  Glorifying  himself  in  his  igno 
rance,  he  built  a  fire  on  the  sands,  and  leaning  back 
against  the  miniature  cliffs  that  guard  the  even  beaches 
of  the  inland  seas,  he  sat  looking  out  over  the  water, 
smoking  a  comfortable  pipe  of  peace,  and  listening, 
meanwhile,  to  the  regular  wash  of  the  waves.  Some 


CASTLE  NOWHERE.  11 

people  are  bom  with  rhythm  in  their  souls,  and  some 
not ;  to  Jarvis  Waring  everything  seemed  to  keep  time, 
from  the  songs  of  the  birds  to  the  chance  words  of  a 
friend ;  and  during  all  this  pilgrimage  through  the  wil 
derness,  when  not  actively  engaged  in  quarrelling  with 
the  Spirit,  he  was  repeating  bits  of  verses  and  humming 
fragments  of  songs  that  kept  time  with  his  footsteps, 
or  rather  they  were  repeating  and  humming  themselves 
along  through  his  brain,  while  he  sat  apart  and  lis 
tened.  At  this  moment  the  fragment  that  came  and 
went  apropos  of  nothing  was  Shakespeare's  sonnet, 

"  When  to  the  sessions  of  sweet  silent  thought, 
I  summon  up  remembrance  of  things  past." 

Now  the  small  waves  came  in  but  slowly,  and  the  son 
net,  in  keeping  time  with  their  regular  wash,  dragged 
its  syllables  so  dolorously  that  at  last  the  man  woke 
to  the  realization  that  something  was  annoying  him. 

"  When  to  —  the  ses  —  sions  of  —  sweet  si  — lent  thought," 

chanted  the  sonnet  and  the  waves  together. 

"  0  double  it,  double  it,  can't  you  ? "  said  the  man, 
impatiently ;  "  this  way :  — 

'  When  to  the  ses  —  sions  of  sweet  si  —  lent  thought,  te-tum,  —  te- 
tum,  te-tum.' " 

But  no ;  the  waves  and  the  lines  persisted  in  their 
own  idea,  and  the  listener  finally  became  conscious  of 
a  third  element  against  him,  another  sound  which  kept 


12  CASTLE  NOWHERE, 

time  with  the  obstinate  two  and  encouraged  them  in 
their  obstinacy,  —  the  dip  of  light  oars  somewhere  out 
in  the  gray  mist. 

"  When  to  —  the  ses  —  sions  of — sweet  si  —  lent  thought, 
I  sum  —  mon  up  —  remem  —  brance  of —  things  past," 

chanted  the  sonnet  and  the  waves  and  the  oars  to 
gether,  and  went  duly  on,  sighing  the  lack  of  many 
things  they  sought,  away  down  to  that  "  dear  friend," 
who  in  some  unexplained  way  made  all  their  "  sorrows 
end."  Even  then,  while  peering  through  the  fog  and 
wondering  where  and  what  was  this  spirit  boat  that 
one  could  hear  but  not  see,  Waring  found  time  to 
make  his  usual  objections.  "This  summoning  up  re 
membrance  of  things  past,  sighing  the  lack,  weeping 
afresh,  and  so  forth,  is  all  very  well,"  he  remarked  to 
himself,  "we  all  do  it.  But  that  friend  who  sweeps 
in  at  the  death  with  his  opportune  dose  of  comfort  is 
a  poetical  myth  whom  I,  for  one,  have  never  yet  met." 

"  That  is  because  you  do  not  .deserve  such  a  friend," 
answered  the  Spirit,  briskly  reappearing  on  the  scene. 
"  A  man  who  flies  into  the  wilderness  to  escape  — 

"  Spirit,  are  you  acquainted  with  a  Biblical  person 
age  named  David  ? "  interrupted  Waring,  executing  a 
flank  movement. 

The  Spirit  acknowledged  the  acquaintance,  but  cau 
tiously,  as  not  knowing  what  was  coming  next. 

"  Did  he  or  did  lie  not  have  anything  to  say  about 


CASTLE   NOWHERE.  13 

flying  to  wildernesses  and  mountain-tops  ?  Did  he 
or  did  he  not  express  wishes  to  sail  thither  in  per 
son  ? " 

"  David  had  a  voluminous  way  of  making  remarks," 
replied  the  Spirit,  "  and  I  do  not  pretend  to  stand  up 
for  them  all.  But  one  thing  is  certain;  whatever  he 
may  have  wished,  in  a  musical  way,  regarding  wilder 
nesses  and  mountain-tops,  when  it  came  to  the  fact  he 
did  not  go.  And  why  ?  Because  he  —  " 

"  Had  no  wings,"  said  "Waring,  closing  the  discussion 
with  a  mighty  yawn.  "  I  say,  Spirit,  take  yourself  off. 
Something  is  coming  ashore,  and  were  it  old  Mck  in 
person  I  should  be  glad  to  see  him  and  shake  his 
clawed  hand." 

As  he  spoke,  out  of  the  fog  and  into  the  glare  of  the 
fire  shot  a  phantom  skiff,  beaching  itself  straight  and 
swift  at  his  feet,  and  so  suddenly  that  he  had  to  with 
draw  them  like  a  flash  to  avoid  the  crunch  of  the  sharp 
bows  across  the  sand.  "Always  let  the  other  man 
speak  first,"  he  thought;  "this  boomerang  of  a  boat 
has  a  shape  in  it,  I  see." 

•The  shape  rose,  and,  leaning  on  its  oar,  gazed  at 
the  camp  and  its  owner  in  silence.  It  seemed  to  be  an 
old  man,  thin  and  bent,  with  bare  arms,  and  a  yellow 
handkerchief  bound  around  its  head,  drawn  down  al 
most  to  the  eyebrows,  which,  singularly  bushy  and 
prominent,  shaded  the  deep-set  eyes  and  hid  their 
expression. 


14  CASTLE  NOWHERE. 

"  But,  supposing  he  won't,  don't  stifle  yourself," 
continued  Waring ;  then  aloud,  "  Well,  old  gentleman, 
where  do  you  come  from  ? " 

"  Nowhere." 

"  And  where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  Back  there." 

"  Could  n't  you  take  me  with  you  ?  I  have  been 
trying  all  my  life  to  go  nowhere,  but  never  could 
learn  the  way ;  do  what  I  would,  I  always  found 
myself  going  in  the  opposite  direction,  namely,  some 
where." 

To  this  the  shape  replied  nothing,  but  gazed  on. 

"Do  the  nobodies  reside  in  Nowhere,  I  wonder," 
pursued  the  smoker  ;  "  because  if  they  do,  I  am  afraid 
I  shall  meet  all  my  friends  and  relatives.  What  a  pity 
the  somebodies  could  not  reside  there  !  But  perhaps 
they  do  ;  cynics  would  say  so." 

But  at  this  stage  the  shape  waved  its  oar  impatiently 
and  demanded,  "  Who  are  you  ?  " 

"-Well,  I  do  not  exactly  know.  Once  I  supposed 
I  was  Jarvis  Waring,  but  the  wilderness  has  routed 
that  prejudice.  We  can  be  anybody  we  please ;  it  is 
only  a  question  of  force  of  will ;  and  my  latest  character 
has  been  William  Shakespeare.  I  have  been  trying 
to  find  out  whether  I  wrote  my  own  plays.  Stay  to 
supper  and  take  the  other  side ;  it  is  long  since  I  have 
had  an  argument  with  flesh  and  blood.  And  you  are 
that, —are  n't  you?" 


CASTLE  NOWHERE.  15 

But  the  shape  frowned  until  it  seemed  all  eyebrow. 
"  Young  man,"  it  said,  "  how  came  you  here  ?  By 
water  ? " 

"  No  ;  by  land." 

"  Alongshore  ? " 

"  No  -,  through  the  woods." 

"  Nobody  ever  comes  through  the  woods." 

"  Agreed ;  but  I  am  somebody." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  have  come  across  from  Lake 
Superior  on  foot  ?  " 

"  I  landed  on  the  shore  of  Lake  Superior  a  month  or 
two  ago,  and  struck  inland  the  same  day ;  where  I  am 
now  I  neither  know  nor  want  to  know." 

"Yery  well,"  said  the  shape,  —  "very  well."  But 
it  scowled  more  gently.  "  You  have  no  boat  ? " 

"No." 

"  Do  you  start  on  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  Probably ;  by  that  time  the  waves  and  '  the  ses 
sions  of  sweet  silent  thought'  will  have  driven  me 
distracted  between  them." 

"I  will  stay  to  supper,  I  think,"  said  the  shape, 
unbending  still  further,  and  stepping  out  of  the  skiff. 

"Deeds  before  words  then,"  replied  Waring,  start 
ing  back  towards  a  tree  where  his  game-bag  and 
knapsack  were  hanging.  When  he  returned  the  skiff 
had  disappeared ;  but  the  shape  was  warming  its 
moccasined  feet  at  the  fire  in  a  very  human  sort  of 
way.  They  cooked  and  eat  with  the  appetites  of  the 


16  CASTLE  NOWHEliE. 

wilderness,  and  grew  sociable  after  a  fashion.  The 
shape's  name  was  Fog%,  Amos  Fog,  or  old  Fog,  a 
fisherman  and  a  hunter  among  the  islands  farther 
to  the  south ;  he  had  come  inshore  to  see  what  that 
fire  meant,  no  person  had  camped  there  in  fifteen 
long  years. 

"  You  have  been  here  all  that  time,  then  ? " 
"  Off  and  on,  off  and  on ;  I  live  a  wandering  life," 
replied  old  Fog ;  and  then,  with  the  large  curiosity 
that  solitude  begets,  he  turned  the  conversation  back 
towards  the  other  and  his  story.  The  other,  not 
unwilling  to  tell  his  adventures,  began  readily;  and 
the  old  man  listened,  smoking  meanwhile  a  second 
pipe  produced  from  the  compact  stores  in  the  knap 
sack.  In  the  web  of  encounters  and  escapes,  he 
placed  his  little  questions  now  and  then ;  no,  War 
ing  had  no  plan  for  exploring  the  region,  no  intention 
of  settling  there,  was  merely  idling  away  a  summer 
in  the  wilderness  and  would  then  go  back  to  civ 
ilization  never  to  return,  at  least,  not  that  way ; 
might  go  west  across  the  plains,  but  that  would  be 
farther  south.  They  talked  on,  one  much,  the  other 
little ;  after  a  time,  "Waring,  whose  heart  had  been 
warmed  by  his  flask,  began  to  extol  his  ways  and 
means. 

"  Live  ?  I  live  like  a  prince,"  he  said.  "  See  these 
tin  cases ;  they  contain  concentrated  stores  of  vari 
ous  kinds.  I  carry  a  little  tea,  you  see,  and  even  a 


CASTLE  NOWHERE.  17 

few  lumps  of  white  sugar  as  a  special  treat  now  and 
then  on  a  wet  night." 

"  Did  you  buy  that  sugar  at  the  Sault  ? "  said  the 
old  man,  eagerly. 

"  O  no  ;  I  brought  it  up  from  below.  For  literature 
I  have  this  small  edition  of  Shakespeare's  sonnets, 
the  cream  of  the  whole  world's  poetry ;  and  when  I 
am  tired  of  looking  at  the  trees  and  the  sky,  I  look 
at  this,  Titian's  lovely  daughter  with  her  upheld  sal 
ver  of  fruit.  Is  she  not  beautiful  as  a  dream  ? " 

"I  don't  know  much  about  dreams,"  replied  old 
Fog,  scanning  the  small  picture  with  curious  eyes; 
"  but  is  n't  she  a  trifle  heavy  in  build  ?  They  dress 
like  that  nowadays,  I  suppose,  —  flowered  gowns  and 
gold  chains  around  the  waist  ? " 

"  Why,  man,  that  picture  was  painted  more  than 
three  centuries  ago." 

"  Was  it  now  ?  Women  don't  alter  much,  do  they  ?" 
said  old  Fog,  simply.  "  Then  they  don't  dress  like 
that  nowadays  ? " 

"I  don't  know  how  they  dress,  and  don't  care," 
said  the  younger  man,  repacking  his  treasures. 

Old  Fog  concluded  to  camp  with  his  new  friend 
that  night  and  be  off  at  dawn.  "You  see  it  is  late," 
he  said,  "and  your  fire's  all  made  and  everything 
comfortable.  I  Ve  a  long  row  before  me  to-morrow : 
I  'm  on  my  way  to  the  Beavers." 

"  Ah !  very  intelligent  animals,  I  am  told.  Friends 
of  yours  ? " 

o 


18  CASTLE  NOWHERE. 

"  Why,  they  're  islands,  boy ;  Big  and  Little  Beaver  ! 
What  do  you  know,  if  you  don't  know  the  Beavers  ?  " 

"  Man,"  replied  Waring.  "  I  natter  myself  I  know 
the  human  animal  well ;  he  is  a  miserable  beast." 

"  Is  he  ? "  said  old  Fog,  wonderingly ;  "  who  'd  have 
thought  it ! "  Then,  giving  up  the  problem  as  some 
thing  beyond  his  reach,  —  "  Don't  trouble  yourself  if 
you  hear  me  stirring  in  the  night,"  he  said ;  "  I  am 
often  mighty  restless."  And  rolling  himself  in  his 
blanket,  he  soon  became,  at  least  as  regards  the 
camp-fire  and  sociability,  a  nonentity. 

"  Simple-minded  old  fellow,"  thought  Waring,  light 
ing  a  fresh  pipe ;  "  has  lived  around  here  all  his 
life,  apparently.  Think  of  that, — to  have  lived  around 
here  all  one's  life !  I,  to  be  sure,  am  here  now ;  but 
then,  have  I  not  been —  And  here  followed  a 
revery  of  remembrances,  that  glittering  network  of 
gayety  and  folly  which  only  young  hearts  can  weave, 
the  network  around  whose  border  is  written  in  a 
thousand  hues,  "  Rejoice,  young  man,  in  thy  youth,  for 
it  cometh  not  again." 

"Alas,  what  sighs  from  our  boding  hearts 
The  infinite  skies  have  borne  away  !  " 

sings  a  poet  of  our  time ;  and  the  same  thought  lies 
in  many  hearts  unexpressed,  and  sighed  itself  away 
in  this  heart  of  our  Jarvis  Waring  that  still  foggy 
evening  on  the  beach. 


CASTLE   NOWHERE.  19 

The  middle  of  the  night,  the  long  watch  before 
dawn ;  ten  chances  to  one  against  his  awakening ! 
A  shape  is  moving  towards  the  bags  hanging  on  the 
distant  tree.  How  the  sand  crunches,  —  but  he  sleeps 
on.  It  reaches  the  bags,  this  shape,  and  hastily 
rifles  them;  then  it  steals  back  and  crosses  the  sand 
again,  its  moccasined  feet  making  no  sound.  But,  as 
it  happened,  that  one  chance  (which  so  few  of  us  ever 
see !)  appeared  on  the  scene  at  this  moment  and 
guided  those  feet  directly  towards  a  large,  thin,  old 
shell  masked  with  newly  blown  sand ;  it  broke  with 
a  crack ;  Waring  woke,  and  gave  chase.  The  old  man 
was  unarmed,  he  had  noticed  that ;  and  then  such 
a  simple-minded,  harmless  old  fellow !  But  simple- 
minded,  harmless  old  fellows  do  not  run  like  mad 
if  one  happens  to  wake;  so  the  younger  pursued. 
He  was  strong,  he  was  fleet ;  but  the  shape  was 
fleeter,  and  the  space  between  them  grew  wider. 
Suddenly  the  shape  turned  and  darted  into  the 
water,  running  out  until  only  its  head  was  visible 
above  the  surface,  a  dark  spot  in  the  foggy  moon 
light.  Waring  pursued,  and  saw  meanwhile  another 
dark  spot  beyond,  an  empty  skiff  which  came  rapidly 
inshoreward  until  it  met  the  head,  which  forthwith 
took  to  itself  a  body,  clambered  in,  lifted  the  oars, 
and  was  gone  in  an  instant.  "Well,"  said  Waring, 
still  pursuing  down  the  gradual  slope  of  the  beach, 
"  will  a  phantom  bark  come  at  my  call,  I  wonder  ? 


20  CASTLE  NOWHERE. 

At  any  rate  I  will  go  out  as  far  as  lie  did,  and  see," 
But  no;  the  perfidious  beach  at  this  instant  shelved 
off  suddenly  and  left  him  afloat  in  deep  water. 
Fortunately  he  was  a  skilled  swimmer,  and  soon 
regained  the  shore,  wet  and  angry.  His  dogs  were 
whimpering  at  a  distance,  both  securely  fastened  to 
trees,  and  the  light  of  the  fire  had  died  down ;  evi 
dently  the  old  Fog  was  not,  after  all,  so  simple  as 
some  other  people ! 

"  I  might  as  well  see  what  the  old  rogue  has  taken," 
thought  Waring ;  "  all  the  tobacco  and  whiskey,  I  '11 
be  bound."  But  nothing  had  been  touched  save  the 
lump-sugar,  the  little  book,  and  the  picture  of  Titian's 
daughter!  Upon  this  what  do  you  suppose  Waring 
did?  He  built  a  boat. 

When  it  was  done,  and  it  took  some  days  and  was 
nothing  but  a  dug-out  after  all  (the  Spirit  said  that), 
he  sailed  out  into  the  unknown;  which  being  inter- 

*  O 

preted  means  that  he  paddled  southward.  From  the 
conformation  of  the  shore,  he  judged  that  he  was  in  a 
deep  curve,  protected  in  a  measure  from  the  force  of 
wind  and  wave.  "  I  '11  find  that  ancient  mariner,"  he 
said  to  himself,  "  if  I  have  to  circumnavigate  the  entire 
lake.  My  book  of  sonnets,  indeed,  and  my  Titian  pic 
ture  !  Would  nothing  else  content  him  ?  This  voyage 
I  undertake  from  a  pure  inborn  sense  of  justice  —  " 

"  Now,  Waring,  you  know  it  is  nothing  of  the  kind," 
said  the  Spirit  who  had  sailed  also.  "You  know  you 


CASTLE  NOWHERE.  21 

are  tired  of  the  woods  and  dread  going  back  that  way, 
and  you  know  you  may  hit  a  steamer  off  the  islands ; 
besides,  you  are  curious  about  this  old  man  who  steals 
Shakespeare  and  sugar,  leaving  tobacco  and  whiskey 
untouched." 

"  Spirit,"  replied  the  man  at  the  paddle,  "  you  fairly 
corrupt  me  with  your  mendacity.  Be  off  and  unlimber 
yourself  in  the  fog ;  I  see  it  coming  in." 

He  did  see  it  indeed ;  in  it  rolled  upon  him  in  col 
umns,  a  soft  silvery  cloud  enveloping  everything,  the 
sunshine,  the  shore,  and  the  water,  so  that  he  paddled 
at  random,  and  knew  not  whither  he  went,  or  rather 
saw  not,  since  knowing  was  long  since  out  of  the  ques 
tion.  "  This  is  pleasant,"  he  said  to  himself  when  the 
morning  had  turned  to  afternoon  and  the  afternoon  to 
night,  "and  it  is  certainly  new.  A  stratus  of  tepid 
cloud  a  thousand  miles  long  and  a  thousand  miles 
deep,  and  a  man  in  a  dug-oufc  paddling  through! 
Sisyphus  was  nothing  to  this."  But  he  made  himself 
comfortable  in  a  philosophic  way,  and  went  to  the  only 
place  left  to  him,  —  to  sleep. 

At  dawn  the  sunshine  colored  the  fog  golden,  but 
that  was  all;  it  was  still  fog,  and  lay  upon  the  dark 
water  thicker  and  softer  than  ever.  Waring  eat  some 
dried  meat,  and  considered  the  possibilities;  he  had 
reckoned  without  the  fog,  and  now  his  lookout  was 
uncomfortably  misty.  The  provisions  would  not  last 
more  than  a  week ;  and  though  he  might  catch  fish, 


22  CASTLE  NOWHERE. 

how  could  he  cook  them  ?  He  had  counted  on  a  shore 
somewhere;  any  land,  however  desolate,  would  give 
him  a  fire ;  but  this  fog  was  muffling,  and  unless  he 
stumbled  ashore  by  chance  he  might  go  on  paddling 
in  a  circle  forever.  "  Men,"  he  said,  summing  up,  "  my 
part  at  any  rate  is  to  go  on;  /,  at  least,  can  do  my 
duty." 

"  Especially  as  there  is  nothing  else  to  do,"  observed 
the  Spirit. 

Having  once  decided,  the  man  kept  at  his  work  with 
finical  precision.  At  a  given  moment  he  eat  a  lunch, 
and  very  tasteless  it  was  too,  and  then  to  work  again  ; 
the  little  craft  went  steadily  on  before  the  stroke  of 
the  strong  arms,  its  wake  unseen,  its  course  unguided. 
Suddenly  at  sunset  the  fog  folded  its  gray  draperies, 
spread  its  wings,  and  floated  off  to  the  southwest,  where 
that  night  it  rested  at  Death's  Door  and  sent  two 
schooners  to  the  bottom;  but  it  left  behind  it  a  re 
leased  dug-out,  floating  before  a  log  fortress  which 
had  appeared  by  magic,  rising  out  of  the  water  with 
not  an  inch  of  ground  to  spare,  if  indeed  there  was 
any  ground;  for  might  it  not  be  a  species  of  fresh 
water  boat,  anchored  there  for  clearer  weather  ? 

"  Ten  more  strokes  and  I  should  have  run  into  it," 
thought  Waring  as  he  floated  noiselessly  up  to  this 
watery  residence ;  holding  on  by  a  jutting  beam,  he 
reconnoitred  the  premises.  The  building  was  of  logs, 
square,  and  standing  on  spiles,  its  north  side,  under 


CASTLE  NOWHERE.  23 

which  he  lay,  showed  a  row  of  little  windows  all  cur 
tained  in  white,  and  from  one  of  them  peeped  the  top 
of  a  rose-bush ;  there  was  but  one  story,  and  the  roof 
was  flat.  Nothing  came  to  any  of  these  windows, 
nothing  stirred,  and  the  man  in  the  dug-out,  being 
curious  as  well  as  hungry,  decided  to  explore,  and 
touching  the  wall  at  intervals  pushed  his  craft  noise 
lessly  around  the  eastern  corner ;  but  here  was  a  blank 
wall  of  logs  and  nothing  more.  The  south  side  was 
the  same,  with  the  exception  of  two  loopholes,  and 
the  dug-out  glided  its  quietest  past  these.  But  the 
west  shone  out  radiant,  a  rude  little  balcony  overhang 
ing  the  water,  and  in  it  a  girl  in  a  mahogany  chair, 
nibbling  something  and  reading. 

"  My  sugar  and  my  sonnets,  as  I  am  alive ! "  ejacu 
lated  Waring  to  himself. 

The  girl  took  a  fresh  bite  with  her  little  white  teeth, 
and  went  on  reading  in  the  sunset  light. 

"  Cool,"  thought  Waring. 

And  cool  she  looked  truly  to  a  man  who  had  paddled 
two  days  in  a  hot  sticky  fog,  as,  clad  in  white,  she  sat 
still  and  placid  on  her  airy  perch.  Her  hair,  of  the 
very  light  fleecy  gold  seldom  seen  after  babyhood,  hung 
over  her  shoulders  unconfined  by  comb  or  ribbon,  fall 
ing  around  her  like  a  veil  and  glittering  in  the  hori 
zontal  sunbeams ;  her  face,  throat,  and  hands  were 
white  as  the  petals  of  a  white  camelia,  her  features 
infantile,  her  cast-down  eyes  invisible  under  the  full- 


24  CASTLE  NOWHERE. 

orbed  lids.  Waring  gazed  at  her  cynically,  his  boat 
motionless ;  it  accorded  with  his  theories  that  the  only 
woman  he  had  seen  for  months  should  be  calmly  eat 
ing  and  reading  stolen  sweets.  The  girl  turned  a  page, 
glanced  up,  saw  him,  and  sprang  forward  smiling;  as 
she  stood  at  the  balcony,  her  beautiful  hair  fell  below 
her  knees. 

"  Jacob,"  she  cried,  gladly,  "  is  that  you  at  last  ? " 

"  No,"  replied  Waring,  "  it  is  not  Jacob ;  rather  Esau. 
Jacob  was  too  tricky  for  me.  The  damsel  Eachel,  I 
presume ! " 

"  My  name  is  Silver,"  said  the  girl,  "  and  I  see  you 
are  not  Jacob  at  all.  Who  are  you,  then?" 

"A  hungry,  tired  man  who  would  like  to  come 
aboard  and  rest  awhile." 

"  Aboard  ?     This  is  not  a  boat." 

"What  then?" 

"  A  castle,  —  Castle  Nowhere." 

"  You  reside  here  ? " 

"  Of  course ;  where  else  should  I  reside  ?  Is  it  not 
a  beautiful  place  ? "  said  the  girl,  looking  around  with 
a  little  air  of  pride. 

"I  could  tell  better  if  I  was  up  there." 

"Come,  then." 

"How?" 

"  Do  you  not  see  the  ladder  ? " 

"Ah,  yes,  —  Jacob  had  a  ladder,  I  remember;  he 
comes  up  this  way,  I  suppose  ? " 


CASTLE  NOWHERE.  25 

"He  does  not;  but  I  wish  he  would." 

"Undoubtedly.  But  you  are  not  Leah  all  this 
time  ? " 

"I  am  Silver,  as  I  told  you  before;  I  know  not 
what  you  mean  with  your  Leah." 

"But,  mademoiselle,  your  Bible — " 

"What  is  Bible?" 

"  You  have  never  read  the  Bible  ? " 

"It  is  a  book,  then.  I  like  books,"  replied  Silver, 
waving  her  hand  comprehensively ;  "  I  have  read  five, 
and  now  I  have  a  new  one.'' 

"  Do  you  like  it,  —  your  new  one  ? "  asked  Waring, 
glancing  towards  his  property. 

"I  do  not  understand  it  all;  perhaps  you  can  ex 
plain  to  me?" 

"  I  think  I  can,"  answered  the  young  man,  smiling 
in  spite  of  himself ;  "  that  is,  if  you  wish  to  learn." 

"Is  it  hard?" 

"That  depends  upon  the  scholar;  now,  some 
minds — "  Here  a  hideous  face  looked  out  through 
one  of  the  little  windows,  and  then  vanished.  "Ah," 
said  Waring,  pausing,  "  one  of  the  family  ? " 

"That  is  Lorez,  my  dear  old  nurse." 

The  face  now  came  out  on  to  the  balcony  and 
showed  itself  as  part  of  an  old  negress,  bent  and 
wrinkled  with  age. 

"He  came  in  a  boat,  Lorez,"  said  Silver,  "and  yet 
you  see  he  is  not  Jacob.  But  he  says  he  is  tired 


26  CASTLE  NOWHERE. 

and  hungry,  so  we  will  have  supper  now,  without 
waiting  for  father." 

The  old  woman  smiled  and  nodded,  stroking  the 
girl's  glittering  hair  meanwhile  with  her  black  hand. 

"As  soon  as  the  sun  has  gone  it  will  be  very 
damp,"  said  Silver,  turning  to  her  guest;  "you  will 
come  within.  But  you  have  not  told  me  your 
name." 

"Jarvis,"  replied  Waring,  promptly. 

"Come,  then,  Jarvis."  And  she  led  the  way 
through  a  low  door  into  a  long  narrow  room  with  a 
row  of  little  square  windows  on  each  side  all  covered 
with  little  square  white  curtains.  The  walls  and 
ceiling  were  planked,  and  the  workmanship  of  the 
whole  rude  and  clumsy;  but  a  gay  carpet  covered 
the  floor,  a  chandelier  adorned  with  lustres  hung 
from  a  hook  in  the  ceiling,  large  gilded  vases  and  a 
mirror  in  a  tarnished  gilt  frame  adorned  a  shelf  over 
the  hearth,  mahogany  chairs  stood  in  ranks  against 
the  wall  under  the  little  windows,  and  a  long  narrow 
table  ran  down  the  centre  of  the  apartment  from  end 
to  end.  It  all  seemed  strangely  familiar;  of  what 
did  it  remind  him  ?  His  eyes  fell  upon  the  table-legs ; 
they  were  riveted  to  the  floor.  Then  it  came  to  him 
at  once, —  the  long  narrow  cabin  of  a  lake  steamer. 

"  I  wonder  if  it  is  not  anchored  after  all,"  he 
thought. 

"Just  a  few  shavings  and   one  little  stick,  Lorez/' 


CASTLE  NOWHERE.  27 

said  Silver ;  "  enough  to  give  us  light  and  drive  away 
the  damp." 

Up  flared  the  blaze  and  spread  abroad  in  a  mo 
ment  the  dear  home  feeling.  (O  hearth-fire,  good 
genius  of  home,  with  thee  a  log-cabin  is  cheery  and 
bright,  without  thee  the  palace  a  dreary  waste !) 

"And  now,  while  Lorez  is  preparing  supper,  you 
will  come  and  see  my  pets,"  said  Silver,  in  her  soft 
tone  of  unconscious  command. 

"By  all  means,"  replied  Waring.  "Anything  in 
the  way  of  mermaidens  ? " 

"Mermaidens  dwell  in  the  water,  they  cannot  live 
in  houses  as  we  can;  did  you  not  know  that?  I 
have  seen  them  on  moonlight  nights,  and  so  has  Lo 
rez;  but  Aunt  Shadow  never  saw  them." 

"  Another  member  of  the  family,  —  Aunt  Shadow  ? " 

"Yes,"  replied  Silver;  "but  she  is  not  here  now. 
She  went  away  one  night  when  I  was  asleep.  I  do 
not  know  why  it  is,"  she  added,  sadly,  "but  if  peo 
ple  go  away  from  here  in  the  night  they  never  come 
back.  Will  it  be  so  with  you,  Jarvis  ? " 

"  No ;  for  I  will  take  you  with  me,"  replied  the 
young  man,  lightly. 

"Very  well;  and  father  will  go  too,  and  Lorez," 
said  Silver. 

To  this  addition,  Waring,  like  many  another  man 
in  similar  circumstances,  made  no  reply.  But  Silver 
did  not  notice  the  omission.  She  had  opened  a  door, 


28  CASTLE  NOWHERE. 

and  behold,  they  stood  together  in  a  bower  of  green 
ery  and  blossom,  flowers  growing  everywhere,  —  on  the 
floor,  up  the  walls,  across  the  ceiling,  in  pots,  in 
boxes,  in  baskets,  on  shelves,  in  cups,  in  shells,  climb 
ing,  crowding  each  other,  swinging,  hanging,  wind 
ing  around  everything, —  a  riot  of  beauty  with  per 
fumes  for  a  language.  Two  white  gulls  stood  in  the 
open  window  and  gravely  surveyed  the  stranger. 

"  They  stay  with  me  almost  all  the  time,"  said  the 
water-maiden ;  "  every  morning  they  fly  out  to  sea 
for  a  while,  but  they  always  come  back." 

Then  she  flitted  to  and  fro,  kissed  the  opening 
blossoms  and  talked  to  them,  tying  back  the  more 
riotous  vines,  and  gravely  admonishing  them. 

"They  are  so  happy  here,"  she  said;  "it  was  dull 
for  them  on  shore.  I  would  not  live  on  the  shore ! 
Would  you?" 

"Certainly  not,"  replied  Waring,  with  an  air  of 
having  spent  his  entire  life  upon  a  raft.  "But  you 
did  not  find  all  these  blossoms  on  the  shores  about 
here,  did  you  ?  " 

"Father  found  them,  —  he  finds  everything;  in  his 
boat  almost  every  night  is  something  for  me.  I  hope 
he  will  come  soon;  he  will  be  so  glad  to  see  you." 

"Will  he?  I  wish  I  was  sure  of  that,"  thought 
Waring.  Then  aloud,  "  Has  he  any  men  with  him  ? " 
he  asked,  carelessly. 

"  O  no  ;  we  live  here  all  alone  now,  —  father,  Lorez, 
and  I." 


CASTLE  NOWHEBE.  29 

"  But  you  were  expecting  a  Jacob  ? " 

"I  have  been  expecting  Jacob  for  more  than  two 
years.  Every  night  I  watch  for  him,  but  he  comes 
not.  Perhaps  he  and  Aunt  Shadow  will  come  to 
gether,  —  do  you  think  they  will  ? "  said  Silver,  look 
ing  up  into  his  eyes  with  a  wistful  expression. 

"Certainly,"  replied  Waring. 

"Now  am  I  glad,  so  glad!  For  father  and  Lorez 
will  never  say  so.  I  think  I  shall  like  you,  Jar- 
vis."  And,  leaning  on  a  box  of  mignonette,  she  con 
sidered  him  gravely  with  her  little  hands  folded. 

Waring,  man  of  the  world,  —  Waring,  who  had  been 
under  fire,  —  Waring  the  impassive,  —  Waring  the  un 
flinching,  —  turned  from  this  scrutiny. 

Supper  was  eaten  at  one  end  of  the  long  table ;  the 
dishes,  tablecloth,  and  napkins  were  marked  with  an 
anchor,  the  food  simple  but  well  cooked. 

"  Fish,  of  course,  and  some  common  supplies  I  can 
understand,"  said  the  visitor ;  "  but  how  do  you  obtain 
flour  like  this,  or  sugar  ? " 

"  Father  brings  them,"  said  Silver,  "  and  keeps  them 
locked  in  his  storeroom.  Brown  sugar  we  have  al 
ways,  but  white  not  always,  and  I  like  it  so  much! 
Don't  you  ? " 

"  No ;  I  care  nothing  for  it,"  said  Waring,  remem 
bering  the  few  lumps  and  the  little  white  teeth. 

The  old  negress  waited,  and  peered  at  the  visitor  out 
of  her  small  bright  eyes ;  every  time  Silver  spoke  to 


30  CASTLE  NOWHERE. 

her,  she  broke  into  a  radiance  of  smiles  and  nods,  but 
said  nothing. 

"  She  lost  her  voice  some  years  ago,"  explained  the 
little  mistress  when  the  black  had  gone  out  for  more 
coffee ;  "  and  now  she  seems  to  have  forgotten  how  to 
form  words,  although  she  understands  us." 

Lorez  returned,  and,  after  refilling  Waring's  cup, 
placed  something  shyly  beside  his  plate,  and  withdrew 
into  the  shadow.  "  What  is  it  ?"  said  the  young  man, 
examining  the  carefully  folded  parcel. 

"  Why,  Lorez,  have  you  given  him  that  i "  ex 
claimed  Silver  as  he  drew  out  a  scarlet  ribbon,  old  and 
frayed,  but  brilliant  still.  "We  think  it  must  have 
belonged  to  her  young  master,"  she  continued  in  a  low 
tone.  "  It  is  her  most  precious  treasure,  and  long  ago 
she  used  to  talk  about  him,  and  about  her  old  home  in 
the  South." 

The  old  woman  came  forward  after  a  while,  smiling 
and  nodding  like  an  animated  mummy,  and  taking  the 
red  ribbon  threw  it  around  the  young  man's  neck,  knot 
ting  it  under  the  chin.  Then  she  nodded  with  treble 
radiance  and  made  signs  of  satisfaction. 

"Yes,  it  is  becoming,"  said  Silver,  considering  the 
effect  thoughtfully,  her  small  head  with  its  veil  of 
hair  bent  to  one  side,  like  a  flower  swayed  by  the 
wind. 

The  flesh-pots  of  Egypt  returned  to  Jarvis  Waring's 
mind ;  he  remembered  certain  articles  of  apparel  left 


CASTLE   NOWHERE.  31 

behind  in  civilization,  and  murmured  against  the  wil 
derness.  Under  the  pretence  of  examining  the  vases, 
he  took  an  early  opportunity  of  looking  into  the  round 
mirror.  "  I  am  hideous/'  he  said  to  himself,  uneasily. 

"  Decidedly  so,"  echoed  the  Spirit  in  a  cheerful  voice. 
But  he  was  not;  only  a  strong  dark  young  man  of 
twenty-eight,  browned  by  exposure,  clad  in  a  gray 
flannel  shirt  and  the  rough  attire  of  a  hunter. 

The  fire  on  the  hearth  sparkled  gayly.  Silver  had 
brought  one  of  her  little  white  gowns,  half  finished, 
and  sat  sewing  in  its  light,  while  the  old  negress  came 
and  went  about  her  household  tasks. 

"  So  you  can  sew  ? "  said  the  visitor. 

"  Of  course  I  can.  Aunt  Shadow  taught  me,"  an 
swered  the  water-maiden,  threading  her  needle  deftly. 
"There  is  no  need  to  do  it,  for  I  have  so  many 
dresses ;  but  I  like  to  sew,  don't  you  ? " 

"  I  cannot  say  that  I  do.  Have  you  so  many  dresses, 
then?" 

"  Yes  ;  would  you  like  to  see  them  ?    Wait." 

Down  went  the  little  gown  trailing  along  the  floor, 
and  away  she  flew,  coming  back  with  her  arms  full, 
-T—  silks,  muslins,  laces,  and  even  jewelry.  "Are  they 
not  beautiful  ? "  she  asked,  ranging  her  splendor  over 
the  chairs. 

"They  are  indeed,"  said  Waring,  examining  the 
garments  with  curious  eyes.  "Where  did  you  get 
them  ? " 


32  CASTLE  NOWHERE. 

"  Father  brought  them.  O,  there  he  is  now,  there  he 
is  now  !  I  hear  the  oars.  Come,  Lorez." 

She  ran  out;  the  old  woman  hastened,  carrying  a 
brand  from  the  hearth;  and  after  a  moment  Waring 
followed  them.  "  I  may  as  well  face  the  old  rogue  at 
once,"  he  thought. 

The  moon  had  not  risen  and  the  night  was  dark; 
under  the  balcony  floated  a  black  object,  and  Lorez, 
leaning  over,  held  out  her  flaming  torch.  The  face  of 
the  old  rogue  came  out  into  the  light  under  its  yellow 
handkerchief,  but  so  brightened  and  softened  by  loving 
gladness  that  the  gazer  above  hardly  knew  it.  "Are 
you  there,  darling,  well  and  safe  ? "  said  the  old  man, 
looking  up  fondly  as  he  fastened  his  skiff. 

"  Yes,  father ;  here  I  am  and  so  glad  to  see  you," 
replied  the  water-maiden,  waiting  at  the  top  of  the 
ladder.  "  We  have  a  visitor,  father  dear ;  are  you  not 
glad,  so  glad  to  see  him  ? " 

The  two  men  came  face  to  face,  and  the  elder  started 
back.  "  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  "  he  said,  sternly. 

"  Looking  for  my  property." 

"  Take  it,  and  begone  ! " 

"  I  will,  to-morrow." 

All  this  apart,  and  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning. 

"  His  name  is  Jarvis,  father,  and  we  must  keep  him 
with  us,"  said  Silver. 

"Yes,  dear,  as  long  as  he  wishes  to  stay;  but  no 
doubt  he  has  home  and  friends  waiting  for  him." 


CASTLE   NOWHERE.  33 

They  went  within,  Silver  leading  the  way.  Old 
Fog's  eyes  gleamed  and  his  hands  were  clinched.  The 
younger  man  watched  him  warily. 

"  I  have  been  showing  Jarvis  all  my  dresses,  father, 
and  he  thinks  them  beautiful." 

"They  certainly  are  remarkable,"  observed  Waring, 
coolly. 

Old  Fog's  hands  dropped,  he  glanced  nervously  to 
wards  the  visitor. 

"  What  have  you  brought  for  me  to-night,  father 
dear?" 

"  Nothing,  child ;  that  is,  nothing  of  any  conse 
quence.  But  it  is  growing  late ;  run  off  to  your 
nest." 

"  O  no,  papa  ;  you  have  had  no  supper,  nor  —  " 

"I  am  not  hungry.  Go,  child,  go;  do  not  grieve 
me,"  said  the  old  man  in  a  low  tone. 

"  Grieve  you  ?  Dear  papa,  never ! "  said  the  girl, 
her  voice  softening  to  tenderness  in  a  moment.  "  I 
will  run  straight  to  my  room.  —  Come,  Lorez." 

The  door  closed.  "  Now  for  us  two,"  thought  War 
ing. 

But  the  cloud  had  passed  from  old  Fog's  face,  and 
he  drew  up  his  chair  confidentially.  "You  see  how 
it  is,"  he  began  in  an  apologetic  tone ;  "  that  child  is  the 
darling  of  my  life,  and  I  could  not  resist  taking  those 
things  for  her;  she  has  so  few  books,  and  she  likes 
those  little  lumps  of  sugar." 


34  CASTLE  NOWHERE. 

"  And  the  Titian  picture  ? "  said  Waring,  watching 
him  doubtfully. 

"A  father's  foolish  pride;  I  knew  she  was  lovelier, 
but  I  wanted  to  see  the  two  side  by  side.  She  is  love 
lier,  is  n't  she  ?" 

"  I  do  not  think  so." 

"  Don't  you  ? "  said  old  Fog  in  a  disappointed  tona 
"  Well,  I  suppose  I  am  foolish  about  her ;  we  live  here 
all  alone,  you  see  :  my  sister  brought  her  up." 

"  The  Aunt  Shadow  who  has  gone  away  ? " 

"  Yes ;  she  was  my  sister,  and  —  and  she  went  away 
last  year/'  said  the  old  man.  "  Have  a  pipe  ? " 

"  I  should  think  you  would  find  it  hard  work  to  live 
here." 

"  I  do ;  but  a  poor  man  cannot  choose.  I  hunt,  fish, 
and  get  out  a  few  furs  sometimes ;  I  traffic  with  the 
Beaver  Island  people  now  and  then.  I  bought  all  this 
furniture  in  that  way ;  you  would  not  think  it,  but  they 
have  a  great  many  nice  things  down  at  Beaver." 

"  It  looks  like  steamboat  furniture." 

"  That  is  it ;  it  is.  A  steamer  went  to  pieces  down 
there,  and  they  saved  almost  all  her  furniture  and 
stores  ;  they  are  very  good  sailors,  the  Beavers." 

"  Wreckers,  perhaps  ?  " 

"Well,  I  would  not  like  to  say  that;  you  know  we 
do  have  terrible  storms  on  these  waters.  And  then 
there  is  the  fog ;  this  part  of  Lake  Michigan  is  foggy 
half  the  time,  why,  I  never  could  guess ;  but  twelve 


CASTLE  NOWHERE.  35 

hours  out  of  the  twenty-four  the  gray  mist  lies  on  the 
water  here  and  outside,  shifting  slowly  backwards  and 
forwards  from  Little  Traverse  to  Death's  Door,  and  up 
into  this  curve,  like  a  waving  curtain.  Those  silks, 
now,  came  from  the  steamer ;  trunks,  you  know.  But 
I  have  never  told  Silver;  she  might  ask  where  were 
the  people  to  whom  they  belonged.  You  do  not  like 
the  idea  ?  Neither  do  I.  But  how  could  we  help  the 
drowning  when  we  were  not  there,  and  these  things 
were  going  for  a  song  down  at  Beaver.  The  child 
loves  pretty  things ;  what  could  a  poor  man  do  ? 
Have  a  glass  of  punch ;  I  '11  get  it  ready  in  no  time." 
He  bustled  about,  and  then  came  back  with  the  full 
glasses.  "  You  won't  tell  her  ?  I  may  have  done 
wrong  in  the  matter,  but  it  would  kill  me  to  have  the 
child  lose  faith  in  me,"  he  said,  humbly. 

"  Are  you  going  to  keep  the  girl  shut  up  here  for 
ever  ? "  said  Waring,  half  touched,  half  disgusted ;  the 
old  fellow  had  looked  abject  as  he  pleaded. 

"  That  is  it ;  no,"  said  Fog,  eagerly.  "  She  has  been 
but  a  child  all  this  time,  you  see,  and  my  sister  taught 
her  well.  "We  did  the  best  we  could.  But  as  soon  as 
I  have  a  little  more,  just  a  little  more,  I  intend  to 
move  to  one  of  the  towns  down  the  lake,  and  have 
a,  small  house  and  everything  comfortable.  I  have 
planned  it  all  out,  I  shall  have  — " 

He  rambled  on,  garrulously  detailing  all  his  fancies 
and  projects  while  the  younger  man  sipped  his  punch 


36  CASTLE  NOWHERE. 

(which  was  very  good),  listened  until  he  was  tired,  fell 
into  a  doze,  woke  and  listened  awhile  longer,  and 
then,  wearied  out,  proposed  bed. 

"  Certainly.     But,  as  I  was  saying  —  " 

"  I  can  hear  the  rest  to-morrow,"  said  Waring,  rising 
with  scant  courtesy. 

"  I  am  sorry  you  go  so  soon ;  could  n't  you  stay  a 
few  days  ? "  said  the  old  man,  lighting  a  brand.  "  I  am 
going  over  to-morrow  to  the  shore  where  I  met  you. 
I  have  some  traps  there;  you  might  enjoy  a  little 
hunting." 

"I  have  had  too  much  of  that  already.  I  must 
get  my  dogs,  and  then  I  should  like  to  hit  a  steamer 
or  vessel  going  below." 

"  Nothing  easier  ;  we  '11  go  over  after  the  dogs  early 
in  the  morning,  and  then  I  '11  take  you  right  down 
to  the  islands  if  the  wind  is  fair.  Would  you  like  to 
look  around  the  castle,  —  I  am  going  to  draw  up  the 
ladders.  No?  This  way,  then;  here  is  your  room." 

It  was  a  little  side-chamber  with  one  window  high 
up  over  the  water;  there  was  an  iron  bolt  on  the 
door,  and  the  walls  of  bare  logs  were  solid.  Waring 
stood  his  gun  in  one  corner,  and  laid  his  pistols  by 
the  side  of  the  bed,  —  for  there  was  a  bed,  only  a  rude 
framework  like  a  low-down  shelf,  but  covered  with 
mattress  and  sheets  none  the  less,  —  and  his  weary 
body  longed  for  those  luxuries  with  a  longing  that  only 
the  wilderness  can  erive,  —  the  wilderness  with  its  beds 


CASTLE  NOWHERE.  37 

of  boughs,  and  no  undressing.  The  bolt  and  the  logs 
shut  him  in  safely ;  he  was  young  and  strong,  and 
there  were  his  pistols.  "  Unless  they  burn  down  their 
old  castle,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  they  cannot  harm 
me."  And  then  he  fell  to  thinking  of  the  lovely 
childlike  girl,  and  his  heart  grew  soft.  "Poor  old 
man,"  he  said,  "  how  he  must  have  worked  and  stolen 
and  starved  to  keep  her  safe  and  warm  in  this  far 
away  nest  of  his  hidden  in  the  fogs !  I  won't  be 
tray  the  old  fellow,  and  I  '11  go  to-morrow.  Do  you 
hear  that,  Jarvis  Waring  ?  I  '11  go  to-morrow  !  " 

And  then  the  Spirit,  who  had  been  listening  as 
usual,  folded  himself  up  silently  and  flew  away. 

To  go  to  sleep  in  a  bed,  and  awake  in  an  open  boat 
drifting  out  to  sea,  is  startling.  Waring  was  not  with 
out  experiences,  startling  and  so  forth,  but  this  ex 
ceeded  former  sensations ;  when  a  bear  had  him,  for 
instance,  he  at  least  understood  it,  but  this  was  not 
a  bear,  but  a  boat.  He  examined  the  craft  as  well  as 
he  could  in  the  darkness.  "  Evidently  boats  in  some 
shape  or  other  are  the  genii  of  this  region,"  he  said ; 
"they  come  shooting  ashore  from  nowhere,  they  sail 
in  at  a  signal  without  oars,  canvas,  or  crew,  and  now 
they  have  taken  to  kidnapping.  It  is  foggy  too,  111 
warrant ;  they  are  in  league  with  the  fogs."  He 
looked  up,  but  could  see  nothing,  not  even  a  star. 
"  What  does  it  all  mean  anyway  ?  Where  am  I  ? 
Who  am  I  ?  Am  I  anybody  ?  Or  has  the  body  gone 


38  CASTLE  NOWHERE. 

and  left  me  only  an  any  ? "  But  no  one  answered. 
Finding  himself  partly  dressed,  with  the  rest  of  his 
clothes  at  his  feet,  he  concluded  that  he  was  not  yet 
a  spirit ;  in  one  of  his  pockets  was  a  match,  he  struck 
it  and  came  back  to  reality  in  its  flash.  The  boat 
was  his  own  dug-out,  and  he  himself  and  no  other 
was  in  it :  so  far,  so  good.  Everything  else,  however, 
was  fog  and  night.  He  found  the  paddle  and  began 
work.  "  We  shall  see  who  will  conquer,"  he  thought, 
doggedly,  "  Fate  or  I ! "  So  he  paddled  on  an  hour 
or  more. 

Then  the  wind  arose  and  drove  the  fog  helter- 
skelter  across  to  Green  Bay,  where  the  gray  ranks 
curled  themselves  down  and  lay  hidden  until  morn 
ing.  "  I  '11  go  with  the  wind,"  thought  Waring,  "  it 
must  take  me  somewhere  in  time."  So  he  changed 
his  course  and  paddled  on.  The  wind  grew  strong, 
then  stronger.  He  could  see  a  few  stars  now  as  the 
ragged  dark  clouds  scudded  across  the  heavens,  and  he 
hoped  for  the  late  moon.  The  wind  grew  wild,  then 
wilder.  It  took  all  his  skill  to  manage  his  clumsy 
boat.  He  no  longer  asked  himself  where  he  was  or 
who ;  he  knew,  —  a  man  in  the  grasp  of  death.  The 
wind  was  a  gale  now,  and  the  waves  were  pressed 
down  flat  by  its  force  as  it  flew  along.  Suddenly 
the  man  at  the  paddle,  almost  despairing,  espied  a 
light,  high  up,  steady,  strong.  "  A  lighthouse  on  one 
of  the  islands,"  he  said,  and  steered  for  it  with  all 


CASTLE  NOWHERE.  39 

his  might.  Good  luck  was  with  him;  in  half  an 
hour  he  felt  the  beach  under  him,  and  landed  on  a 
shore;  but  the  light  he  saw  no  longer.  "I  must  be 
close  in  under  it,"  he  thought.  In  the  train  of  the 
gale  came  thunder  and  lightning.  Waring  sat  un 
der  a  bush  watching  the  powers  of  the  air  in  con 
flict,  he  saw  the  fury  of  their  darts  and  heard  the 
crash  of  their  artillery,  and  mused  upon  the  wonders 
of  creation,  and  the  riddle  of  man's  existence.  Then 
a  flash  came,  different  from  the  others  in  that  it 
brought  the  human  element  upon  the  scene ;  in  its 
light  he  saw  a  vessel  driving  helplessly  before  the  gale. 
Down  from  his  spirit-heights  he  came  at  once,  and  all 
the  man  within  him  was  stirred  for  those  on  board, 
who,  whether  or  not  they  had  ever  perplexed  them 
selves  over  the  riddle  of  their  existence,  no  doubt 
now  shrank  from  the  violent  solution  offered  to 
them.  But  what  could  he  do  ?  He  knew  nothing 
of  the  shore,  and  yet  there  must  be  a  harbor  some 
where,  for  was  there  not  the  light  ?  Another  flash 
showed  the  vessel  still  nearer,  drifting  broadside  on ; 
involuntarily  he  ran  out  on  the  long  sandy  point 
where  it  seemed  that  soon  she  must  strike.  But 
sooner  came  a  crash,  and  a  grinding  sound ;  there 
was  a  reef  outside  then,  and  she  was  on  it,  the  rocks 
cutting  her,  and  the  waves  pounding  her  down  on 
their  merciless  edges.  "  Strange  ! "  he  thought.  "  The 
harbor  must  be  on  the  other  side  I  suppose,  and  yet 


40  CASTLE  NOWHERE. 

it  seems  as  though  I  came  this  way."  Looking  around, 
there  was  the  light  high  up  behind  him,  burning 
clearly  and  strongly,  while  the  vessel  was  breaking 
to  pieces  below.  "  It  is  a  lure,"  he  said,  indignantly, 
"  a  false  light."  In  his  wrath  he  spoke  aloud ;  suddenly 
a  shape  came  out  of  the  darkness,  cast  him  down,  and 
tightened  a  grasp  around  his  throat.  "I  know  you," 
he  muttered,  strangling.  One  hand  was  free,  he  drew 
out  his  pistol,  and  fired;  the  shape  fell  back.  It 
was  old  Fog.  Wounded  ?  Yes,  badly. 

Waring  found  his  tinder-box,  made  a  blaze  of  drift 
wood,  and  bound  up  the  bleeding  arm  and  leg 
roughly*  "Wretch,"  he  said,  "you  set  that  light." 

Old  Fog  nodded. 

"  Can  anything  be  done  for  the  men  on  board  ? 
Answer,  or  I  '11  end  your  miserable  life  at  once ;  I 
don't  know  why,  indeed,  I  have  tried  to  save  it." 

Old  Fog  shook  his  head.  "Nothing,"  he  mur 
mured  ;  "  I  know  every  inch  of  the  reef  and  shore." 

Another  flash  revealed  for  an  instant  the  doomed 
vessel,  and  Waring  raged  at  his  own  impotence  as 
he  strode  to  and  fro,  tears  of  anger  and  pity  in  his 
eyes.  The  old  man  watched  him  anxiously.  "There 
are  not  more  than  six  of  them,"  he  said;  "it  was 
only  a  small  schooner." 

"  Silence  ! "  shouted  Waring  ;  "  each  man  of  the  six 
now  suffering  and  drowning  is  worth  a  hundred  of  such 
as  you  ! " 


CASTLE  NOWHERE.  41 

"That  may  be,"  said  Fog. 

Half  an  hour  afterwards  he  spoke  again.  "  They  're 
about  gone  now,  the  water  is  deadly  cold  up  here. 
The  wind  will  go  down  soon,  and  by  daylight  the 
things  will  be  coming  ashore ;  you  '11  see  to  them, 
won't  you  ? " 

"  1  '11  see  to  nothing,  murderer  ! " 

"  And  if  I  die,  what  are  you  ? " 

"An  avenger." 

"  Silver  must  die  too  then ;  there  is  but  little  in 
the  house,  she  will  soon  starve.  It  was  for  her  that 
I  came  out  to-night." 

"I  will  take  her  away;  not  for  your  sake,  but  for 
hers." 

"  How  can  you  find  her  ? " 

"As  soon  as  it  is  daylight  I  will  sail  over." 

"  Over  ?  Over  where  ?  That  is  it,  you  do  not 
know,"  said  the  old  man,  eagerly,  raising  himself  on 
his  unwounded  arm.  "You  might  row  and  sail 
about  here  for  days,  and  I  '11  warrant  you  'd  never 
find  the  castle ;  it 's  hidden  away  more  carefully  than 
a  nest  in  the  reeds,  trust  me  for  that.  The  way  lies 
through  a  perfect  tangle  of  channels  and  islands  and 
marshes,  and  the  fog  is  sure  for  at  least  a  good  half 
of  the  time.  The  sides  of  the  castle  towards  the 
channel  show  no  light  at  all;  and  even  when  you're 
once  through  the  outlying  islets,  the  only  approach 
is  masked  by  a  movable  bed  of  sedge  which  I  con- 


42  CASTLE  NOWHERE. 

trived,  and  which  turns  you  skilfully  back  into  the 
marsh  by  another  way.  No;  you  might  float  around 
there  for  days,  but  you'd  never  find  the  castle." 

"I  found  it  once." 

"  That  was  because  you  came  from  the  north  shore. 
I  did  not  guard  that  side,  because  no  one  has  ever 
come  that  way;  you  remember  how  quickly  I  saw 
your  light  and  rowed  over  to  find  out  what  it  was. 
But  you  are  miles  away  from  there  now." 

The  moon  could  not  pierce  the  heavy  clouds,  and 
the  night  continued  dark.  At  last  the  dawn  came 
slowly  up  the  east  and  showed  an  angry  sea,  and  an 
old  man  grayly  pallid  on  the  sands  near  the  dying 
fire  ;  of  the  vessel  nothing  was  to  be  seen. 

"  The  things  will  be  coming  ashore,  the  things  will 
be  coming  ashore,"  muttered  the  old  man,  his  anx 
ious  eyes  turned  towards  the  water  that  lay  on  a 
level  with  his  face;  he  could  not  raise  himself  now. 
"  Do  you  see  things  coming  ashore  ? " 

"Waring  looked  searchingly  at  him.  "Tell  me  the 
truth,"  he  said,  "  has  the  girl  no  boat  ? " 

"  No." 

"  Will  any  one  go  to  rescue  her ;  does  any  one  know 
of  the  castle  ? " 

"  Not  a  human  being  on  this  earth." 

"  And  that  aunt,  —  that  Jacob  ?  " 

"  Did  n't  you  guess  it  ?  They  are  both  dead.  I 
rowed  them  out  by  night  and  buried  them,  —  my 


CASTLE  NOWHERE.  43 

poor  old  sister,  and  the  boy  who  had  been  our  serv 
ing-lad.  The  child  knows  nothing  of  death.  I  told 
her  they  had  gone  away." 

"Is  there  no  way  for  her  to  cross  to  the  islands  or 
mainland?" 

"  No ;  there  is  a  circle  of  deep  water  all  around  the 
castle,  outside." 

"  I  see  nothing  for  it,  then,  but  to  try  and  save  your 
justly  forfeited  life,"  said  Waring,  kneeling  down  with 
an  expression  of  repugnance.  He  was  something  of  a 
surgeon,  and  knew  what  he  was  about.  His  task  over, 
he  made  up  the  fire,  warmed  some  food,  fed  the  old 
man,  and  helped  his  waning  strength  with  the  contents 
of  his  flask.  "  At  least  you  placed  all  my  property  in 
the  dug-out  before  you  set  me  adrift,"  he  said;  "may 
I  ask  your  motive  ? " 

"I  did  not  wish  to  harm  you;  only  to  get  rid  of 
you.  You  had  provisions,  and  your  chances  were  as 
good  as  many  you  had  had  in  the  woods." 

"But  I  might  have  found  my  way  back  to  your 
castle  ? " 

"  Once  outside,  you  could  never  do  that,"  replied  the 
old  man,  securely. 

"  I  could  go  back  along-shore." 

"  There  are  miles  of  piny- wood  swamps  where  the 
streams  come  down;  no,  you  could  not  do  it,  unless 
you  went  away  round  to  Lake  Superior  again,  and 
struck  across  the  country  as  you  did  before.  That 


44  CASTLE  NOWHERE. 

would  take  you  a  month  or  two,  and  the  summer  is 
almost  over.  You  would  not  risk  a  Northern  snow 
storm,  I  reckon.  But  say,  do  you  see  things  coming 
ashore  ? " 

"  The  poor  bodies  will  come,  no  doubt,"  said  Waring, 
sternly. 

"Not  yet;  and  they  don't  often  come  in  here,  any 
way ;  they  're  more  likely  to  drift  out  to  sea." 

"  Miserable  creature,  this  is  not  the  first  time,  then  ! " 

"  Only  four  times,  —  only  four  times  in  fifteen  long 
years,  and  then  only  when  she  was  close  to  starvation," 
pleaded  the  old  man.  "The  steamer  was  honestly 
wrecked,  —  the  Anchor,  of  the  Buffalo  line,  —  hon 
estly,  I  do  assure  you ;  and  what  I  gathered  from  her 
—  she  did  not  go  to  pieces  for  days  —  lasted  me  a 
long  time,  besides  furnishing  the  castle.  It  was  a  god 
send  to  me,  that  steamer.  You  must  not  judge  me, 
boy;  I  work,  I  slave,  I  go  hungry  and  cold,  to  keep 
her  happy  and  warm.  But  times  come  when  every 
thing  fails  and  starvation  is  at  the  door.  She  never 
knows  it,  none  of  them  ever  knew  it,  for  I  keep  the 
keys  and  amuse  them  with  little  mysteries;  but,  as 
God  is  my  judge,  the  wolf  has  been  at  the  door,  and 
is  there  this  moment  unless  I  have  luck.  Fish? 
There  are  none  in  shore  where  they  can  catch  them. 
Why  do  I  not  fish  for  them  ?  I  do ;  but  my  darling 
is  not  accustomed  to  coarse  fare,  her  delicate  life 
must  be  delicately  nourished.  O,  you  do  not  know, 


CASTLE  NOWHERE.  45 

you  do  not  know !  I  am  growing  old,  and  my  hands 
and  eyes  are  not  what  they  were.  That  very  night 
when  I  came  home  and  found  you  there,  I  had  just 
lost  overboard  my  last  supplies,  stored  so  long,  hus 
banded  so  carefully !  If  I  could  walk,  I  would  show 
you  my  cellar  and  storehouse  back  in  the  woods. 
Many  things  that  they  have  held  were  honestly 
earned,  by  my  fish  and  my  game,  and  one  thing  and 
another.  I  get  out  timber  and  raft  it  down  to  the 
islands  sometimes,  although  the  work  is  too  hard  for 
an  old  man  alone ;  and  I  trade  my  furs  off  regularly 
at  the  settlements  on  the  islands  and  even  along  the 
mainland,  —  a  month's  work  for  a  little  flour  or  sugar. 
Ah,  how  I  have  labored!  I  have  felt  my  muscles 
crack,  I  have  dropped  like  a  log  from  sheer  weariness. 
Talk  of  tortures ;  which  of  them  have  I  not  felt,  with 
the  pains  and  faintness  of  exposure  and  hunger  rack 
ing  me  from  head  to  foot?  Have  I  stopped  for  snow 
and  ice?  Have  I  stopped  for  anguish?  Never;  I 
have  worked,  worked,  worked,  with  the  tears  of  pain 
rolling  down  my  cheeks,  with  my  body  gnawed  by 
hunger.  That  night,  in  some  way,  the  boxes  slipped 
and  fell  overboard  as  I  was  shifting  them ;  just  slipped 
out  of  my  grasp  as  if  on  purpose,  they  knowing  all 
the  time  that  they  were  my  last.  Home  I  came, 
empty-handed,  and  found  you  there!  I  would  have 
taken  your  supplies,  over  on  the  north  beach,  that 
night,  yes,  without  pity,  had  I  not  felt  sure  of  those 


46  CASTLE  NOWHERE. 

last  boxes ;  but  I  never  rob  needlessly.  You  look  at 
me  with  scorn  ?  You  are  thinking  of  those  dead  men  ? 
But  what  are  they  to  Silver,  —  the  rough  common 
fellows,  —  and  the  wolf  standing  at  the  castle  door ! 
Believe  me,  though,  I  try  everything  before  I  resort 
to  this,  and  only  twice  out  of  the  four  times  have 
I  caught  anything  with  my  tree-hung  light;  once  it 
was  a  vessel  loaded  with  provisions,  and  once  it  was 
a  schooner  with  grain  from  Chicago,  which  washed 
overboard  and  was  worthless.  0,  the  bitter  day 
when  I  stood  here  in  the  biting  wind  and  watched 
it  float  by  out  to  sea !  But  say,  has  anything  come 
ashore  ?  She  will  be  waking  soon,  and  we  have  miles 
to  go." 

But  Waring  did  not  answer ;  he  turned  away.  The 
old  man  caught  at  his  feet.  "You  are  not  going,"  he 
cried  in  a  shrill  voice,  —  "  you  are  not  going  ?  Leave 
me  to  die,  —  that  is  well ;  the  sun  will  come  and  burn 
me,  thirst  will  come  and  madden  me,  these  wounds 
will  torture  me,  and  all  is  no  more  than  I  deserve. 
But  Silver  ?  If  I  die,  she  dies.  If  you  forsake  me, 
you  forsake  her.  Listen;  do  you  believe  in  your 
Christ,  the  dear  Christ?  Then,  in  his  name  I  swear 
to  you  that  you  cannot  reach  her  alone,  that  only  I 
can  guide  you  to  her.  O  save  me,  for  her  sake  !  Must 
she  suffer  and  linger  and  die  ?  0  God,  have  pity  and 
soften  his  heart ! "  The  voice  died  away  in  sobs,  the 
weak  slow  sobs  of  an  old  man. 


CASTLE  NOWHERE.  47 

But  Waring,  stern  in  avenging  justice,  drew  him 
self  from  the  feeble  grasp,  and  walked  down  towards 
the  boats.  He  did  not  intend  fairly  to  desert  the  mis 
erable  old  creature.  He  hardly  knew  what  he  intended, 
but  his  impulse  was  to  put  more  space  between  them, 
between  himself  and  this  wretch  who  gathered  his 
evil  living  from  dead  men's  bones.  So  he  stood  gaz 
ing  out  to  sea.  A  faint  cry  roused  him,  and,  turning, 
he  saw  that  the  old  man  had  dragged  himself  half 
across  the  distance  between  them,  marking  the  way 
with  his  blood,  for  the  bandages  were  loosened  by  his 
movements.  As  Waring  turned,  he  held  up  his  hands, 
cried  aloud,  and  fell  as  if  dead  on  the  sands.  "I  am 
a  brute,"  said  Waring.  Then  he  went  to  work  and 
brought  back  consciousness,  rebound  the  wounds,  lifted 
the  body  in  his  strong  arms  and  bore  it  down  the 
beach.  A  sail-boat  lay  in  a  cove,  with  a  little  skiff  in 
tow.  Waring  arranged  a  couch  in  the  bottom,  and 
placed  the  old  man  in  an  easy  position  on  an  im 
promptu  pillow  made  of  his  coat.  Fog  opened  his 
eyes.  "  Anything  come  ashore  ? "  he  asked  faintly,  try 
ing  to  turn  his  head  towards  the  reef.  Conquering 
his  repugnance,  the  young  man  walked  out  on  the 
long  point.  There  was  nothing  there;  but  farther 
down  the  coast  barrels  were  washing  up  and  back 
in  the  surf,  and  one  box  had  stranded  in  shallow 
water.  "Am  I,  too,  a  wrecker?"  he  asked  himself, 
as  with  much  toil  and  trouble  he  secured  the  booty 


48  CASTLE  NOWHERE. 

and  examined  it.  Yes,  the  barrels  contained  pro 
visions. 

Old  Fog,  revived  by  the  sight,  lay  propped  at  the 
stern,  giving  directions.  Waring  found  himself  a  child 
obeying  the  orders  of  a  wiser  head.  The  load  on 
board,  the  little  skiff  carrying  its  share  behind,  the 
young  man  set  sail  and  away  they  flew  over  the 
angry  water ;  old  Fog  watching  the  sky,  the  sail,  and 
the  rudder,  guiding  their  course  with  a  word  now  and 
then,  but  silent  otherwise. 

"  Shall  we  see  the  castle  soon  ? "  asked  Waring,  after 
several  hours  had  passed. 

"  We  may  be  there  by  night,  if  the  wind  does  n't 
shift." 

"  Have  we  so  far  to  go,  then  ?  Why,  I  came  across 
in  the  half  of  a  night." 

"  Add  a  day  to  the  half  and  you  have  it.  I  let  you 
down  at  dawn  and  towed  you  out  until  noon ;  then  I 
spied  that  sail  beating  up,  and  I  knew  there  would  be 
a  storm  by  night,  and  —  and  things  were  desperate 
with  me.  So  I  cast  you  off  and  came  over  to  set  the 
light.  It  was  a  chance  I  did  not  count  on,  that  your 
dug-out  should  float  this  way;  I  calculated  that  she 
would  beach  you  safely  on  an  island  farther  to  the 
south." 

"And  all  this  time,  when  you  were  letting  me 
down  —  By  the  way,  how  did  you  do  it  ? " 

"  Lifted  a  plank  in  the  floor." 


CASTLE   NOWHERE.  49 

"When  you  were  letting  me  down,  and  towing 
me  out,  and  calculating  chances,  what  was  I,  may  I 
ask  ? " 

"  0,  just  a  body  asleep,  that  was  all ;  your  punch 
was  drugged,  and  well  done  too  !  Of  course  I  could 
not  have  you  at  the  castle ;  that  was  plain." 

They  flew  on  a  while  longer,  and  then  veered  short 
to  the  left.  "  This  boat  sails  well,"  said  Waring,  "  and 
that  is  your  skiff  behind  I  see.  Did  you  whistle  for 
it  that  night  ?  " 

({ I  let  it  out  by  a  long  cord  while  you  went  after  the 
game-bag,  arid  the  shore-end  I  fastened  to  a  little  stake 
just  under  the  edge  of  the  water  on  that  long  slope 
of  beach.  I  snatched  it  up  as  I  ran  out,  and  kept  haul 
ing  in  until  I  met  it.  You  fell  off  that  ledge,  did  n't 
you  ?  I  calculated  on  that.  You  see  I  had  found  out 
all  I  wanted  to  know ;  the  only  thing  I  feared  was 
some  plan  for  settling  along  that  shore,  or  exploring  it 
for  something.  It  is  my  weak  side  ;  if  you  had  climbed 
up  one  of  those  tall  trees  you  might  have  caught  sight 
of  the  castle,  —  that  is,  if  there  was  no  fog." 

"  Will  the  fog  come  up  now  ? " 

"  Hardly  ;  the  storm  has  been  too  heavy.  I  suppose 
you  know  what  day  it  is  ? "  continued  the  old  man, 
peering  up  at  his  companion  from  under  his  shaggy 
eyebrows. 

"  No  ;  I  have  lost  all  reckonings  of  time  and  place." 

"  Purposely  ? " 


50  CASTLE  NOWHEKE. 

"Yes." 

"  You  are  worse  than  I  am,  then ;  I  keep  a  reckon 
ing,  although  I  do  not  show  it.  To-day  is  Sunday,  but 
Silver  does  not  know  it ;  all  days  are  alike  to  her. 
Silver  has  never  heard  of  the  Bible,"  he  added,  slowly. 

"  Yes,  she  has,  for  I  told  her." 

"  You  told  her !  "  cried  old  Fog,  wringing  his  hands. 

"  Be  quiet,  or  you  will  disturb  those  bandages  again. 
I  only  asked  her  if  she  had  read  the  book,  and  she 
said  no  ;  that  was  all.  But  supposing  it  had  not  been 
all,  what  then  ?  Would  it  harm  her  to  know  of  the 
Bible?" 

"  It  would  harm  her  to  lose  faith  in  me." 

"  Then  why  have  you  not  told  her  yourself  ? " 

"  I  left  her  to  grow  up  as  the  flowers  grow,"  said  old 
Tog,  writhing  on  his  couch.  "  Is  she  not  pure  and 
good  ?  Ah,  a  thousand  times  more  than  any  church 
or  school  could  make  her ! " 

"  And  yet  you  have  taught  her  to  read  ? " 

"  I  knew  not  what  might  happen.  I  could  not 
expose  her  defenceless  in  a  hard  world.  Eeligion  is 
fancy,  but  education  is  like  an  armor.  I  cannot  tell 
what  may  happen." 

"True.  You  may  die,  you  know;  you  are  an  old 
man." 

The  old  man  turned  away  his  face. 

They  sailed  on,  eating  once  or  twice;  afternoon 
came,  and  then  an  archipelago  closed  in  around  them  ; 


CASTLE  NOWHERE.  51 

the  sail  was  down,  and  the  oars  out.  Around  and 
through,  across  and  back,  in  and  out  they  wound,  now 
rowing,  now  poling,  and  now  and  then  the  sail  hoisted 
to  scud  across  a  space  of  open  water.  Old  Fog's  face 
had  grown  gray  again,  and  the  lines  had  deepened 
across  his  haggard  cheek  and  set  mouth ;  his  strength 
was  failing.  At  last  they  came  to  a  turn,  broad  and 
smooth  like  a  canal.  "  Now  I  will  hoist  the  sail 
again,"  said  Waring. 

But  old  Fog  shook  his  head.  "  That  turn  leads  di 
rectly  back  into  the  marsh,"  he  said.  "  Take  your  oar 
and  push  against  the  sedge  in  front." 

The  young  man  obeyed,  and  lo !  it  moved  slowly 
aside  and  disclosed  a  narrow  passage  westward ;  through 
this  they  poled  their  way  along  to  open  water,  then 
set  the  sail,  rounded  a  point,  and  came  suddenly 
upon  the  castle.  "  Well,  I  am  glad  we  are  here,"  said 
Waring. 

Fog  had  fallen  back.  "  Promise,"  he  whispered  with 
gray  lips,  —  "  promise  that  you  will  not  betray  me  to 
the  child."  And  his  glazing  eyes  fixed  themselves  on 
Waring's  face  with  the  mute  appeal  of  a  dying  ani 
mal  in  the  hands  of  its  captor. 

"  I  promise,"  said  Waring. 

But  the  old  man  did  not  die ;  he  wavered,  lingered, 
then  slowly  rallied,  —  very  slowly.  The  weeks  had 
grown  into  a  month  and  two  before  he  could  manage 
his  boat  again.  In  the  mean  time  Waring  hunted  and 


52  CASTLE  NOWHERE. 

fished  for  the  household,  and  even  sailed  over  to  the 
reef  with  Fog  on  a  bed  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat, 
coming  back  loaded  with  the  spoil ;  not  once  only,  not 
twice  did  he  go ;  and  at  last  he  knew  the  way,  even 
through  the  fog,  and  came  and  went  alone,  bringing 
home  the  very  planks  and  beams  of  the  ill-fated 
schooner.  "  They  will  make  a  bright  fire  in  the  even 
ings,"  he  said.  The  dogs  lived  on  the  north  shore,  went 
hunting  when  their  master  came  over,  and  the  rest  of 
the  time  possessed  their  souls  in  patience.  And  what 
possessed  Waring,  do  you  ask  ?  His  name  for  it  was 
"  necessity."  "  Of  course  I  cannot  leave  them  to 
starve,"  he  said  to  himself. 

Silver  came  and  went  about  the  castle,  at  first  wil 
fully,  then  submissively,  then  shyly.  She  had  folded 
away  all  her  finery  in  wondering  silence,  for  Waring's 
face  had  shown  disapproval,  and  now  she  wore  always 
her  simple  white  gown.  "Can  you  not  put  up  your 
hair  ? "  he  had  asked  one  day ;  and  from  that  moment 
the  little  head  appeared  crowned  with  braids.  She 
worked  among  her  flowers  and  fed  her  gulls  as  usual, 
but  she  no  longer  talked  to  them  or  told  them  stories. 
In  the  evenings  they  all  sat  around  the  hearth,  and 
sometimes  the  little  maiden  sang ;  Waring  had  taught 
her  new  songs.  She  knew  the  sonnets  now,  and 
chanted  them  around  the  castle  to  tunes  of  her  own ; 
Shakespeare  would  not  have  known  his  stately  meas 
ures,  dancing  along  to  her  rippling  melodies. 


CASTLE  NOWHERE.  53 

The  black  face  of  Orange  shone  and  simmered  with 
glee ;  she  nodded  perpetually,  and  crooned  and  laughed 
to  herself  over  her  tasks  by  the  hour  together,  —  a  low 
chuckling  laugh  of  exceeding  content. 

And  did  Waring  ever  stop  to  think  ?  I  know  not. 
If  he  did,  he  forgot  the  thoughts  when  Silver  came  and 
sat  by  him  in  the  evening  with  the  light  of  the  hearth- 
fire  shining  over  her.  He  scarcely  saw  her  at  other 
times,  except  on  her  balcony,  or  at  her  flower- window 
as  he  came  and  went  in  his  boat  below;  but  in  the 
evenings  she  sat  beside  him  in  her  low  chair,  and  laid 
sometimes  her  rose-leaf  palm  in  his  rough  brown  hand, 
or  her  pretty  head  against  his  arm.  Old  Fog  sat  by 
always  ;  but  he  said  little,  and  his  face  was  shaded  by 
his  hand. 

The  early  autumn  gales  swept  over  the  lakes,  leaving 
wreck  and  disaster  behind ;  but  the  crew  of  the  castle 
stayed  safely  at  home  and  listened  to  the  tempest  cosily, 
while  the  flowers  bloomed  on,  and  the  gulls  brought 
all  their  relations  and  colonized  the  balcony  and  win 
dow-sills,  fed  daily  by  the  fair  hand  of  Silver.  And 
Waring  went  not. 

Then  the  frosts  came,  and  turned  the  forests  into 
splendor;  they  rowed  over  and  brought  out  branches, 
and  Silver  decked  the  long  room  with  scarlet  and  gold. 
And  Waring  went  not. 

The  dreary  November  rains  began,  the  leaves  fell, 
and  the  dark  water  surged  heavily ;  but  a  store  of 


54  CASTLE  NOWHERE. 

wood  was  piled  on  the  flat  roof,  and  the  fire  on  the 
hearth  blazed  high.     And  still  Waring  went  not. 

At  last  the  first  ice  appeared,  thin  flakes  forming 
around  the  log  foundations  of  the  castle ;  then  old  Fog 
spoke.  "  I  am  quite  well  now,  quite  strong  again ;  you 
must  go  to-day,  or  you  will  find  yourself  frozen  in  here. 
As  it  is,  you  may  hit  a  late  vessel  off  the  islands  that 
will  carry  you  below.  I  will  sail  over  with  you,  and 
bring  back  the  boat." 

"  But  you  are  not  strong  enough  yet,"  said  Waring, 
bending  over  his  work,  a  shelf  he  was  carving  for  Sil 
ver  ;  "  I  cannot  go  and  leave  you  here  alone." 

"  It  is  either  go  now,  or  stay  all  winter.  You  do 
not,  I  presume,  intend  to  make  Silver  your  wife, — 
Silver,  the  daughter  of  Fog  the  wrecker." 

Waring's  hands  stopped;  never  before  had  the  old 
man's  voice  taken  that  tone,  never  before  had  he  even 
alluded  to  the  girl  as  anything  more  than  a  child.  On 
the  contrary,  he  had  been  silent,  he  had  been  humble, 
he  had  been  openly  grateful  to  the  strong  young  man 
who  had  taken  his  place  on  sea  and  shore,  and  kept 
the  castle  full  and  warm.  "  What  new  thing  is  this  ? " 
thought  Waring,  and  asked  the  same. 

"  Is  it  new  ? "  said  Fog.  "  I  thought  it  old,  very  old. 
I  mean  no  mystery,  I  speak  plainly.  You  helped  me 
in  my  great  strait,  and  I  thank  you ;  perhaps  it  will  be 
counted  unto  you  for  good  in  the  reckoning  up  of  your 
life.  But  I  am  strong  again,  and  the  ice  is  forming. 


CASTLE  NOWHERE.  55 

You  can  have  no  intention  of  making  Silver  your 
wife  ? " 

Waring  looked  up,  their  eyes  met.  "  No,"  he  replied 
slowly,  as  though  the  words  were  being  dragged  out  of 
him  by  the  magnetism  of  the  old  man's  gaze,  "  I  cer 
tainly  have  no  such  intention." 

Nothing  more  was  said  ;  soon  Waring  rose  and  went 
out.  But  Silver  spied  him  from  her  flower-room,  and 
came  down  to  the  sail-boat  where  it  lay  at  the  foot  of 
the  ladder.  "  You  are  not  going  out  this  cold  day," 
she  said,  standing  by  his  side  as  he  busied  himself 
over  the  rigging.  She  was  wrapped  in  a  fur  mantle, 
with  a  fur  cap  on  her  head,  and  her  rough  little  shoes 
were  fur-trimmed.  Waring  made  no  reply.  "But  I 
shall  not  allow  it,"  continued  the  maiden,  gayly.  "  Am 
I  not  queen  of  this  castle  ?  You  yourself  have  said  it 
many  a  time.  You  cannot  go,  Jarvis;  I  want  you 
here."  And  with  her  soft  hands  she  blinded  him 
playfully. 

"  Silver,  Silver,"  called  old  Fog's  voice  above,  "  come 
within ;  I  want  you." 

After  that  the  two  men  were  very  crafty  in  their 
preparations. 

The  boat  ready,  Waring  went  the  rounds  for  the  last 
time.  He  brought  down  wood  for  several  days  and 
stacked  it,  he  looked  again  at  all  the  provisions  and 
reckoned  them  over ;  then  he  rowed  to  the  north  shore, 
visited  his  traps,  called  out  the  dogs  from  the  little 


56  CASTLE  NOWHERE. 

house  he  had  made  for  them,  and  bade  them  good  by. 
"  I  shall  leave  you  for  old  Fog,"  he  said ;  "  be  good 
dogs,  and  bring  in  all  you  can  for  the  castle." 

The  dogs  wagged  their  tails,  and  waited  politely  on 
the  beach  until  he  was  out  of  sight :  but  they  did  not 
seem  to  believe  his  story,  and  went  back  to  their  house 
tranquilly  without  a  howl.  The  day  passed  as  usual. 
Once  the  two  men  happened  to  meet  in  the  passage 
way.  "  Silver  seems  restless,  we  must  wait  till  dark 
ness,"  said  Fog  in  a  low  tone. 

"  Very  well,"  replied  Waring. 

At  midnight  they  were  off,  rowing  over  the  black 
water  in  the  sail-boat,  hoping  for  a  fair  wind  at  dawn, 
as  the  boat  was  heavy.  They  journeyed  but  slowly 
through  the  winding  channel,  leaving  the  sedge-gate 
open ;  no  danger  now  from  intruders ;  the  great  giant, 
Winter,  had  swallowed  all  lesser  foes.  It  was  cold, 
very  cold,  and  they  stopped  awhile  at  dawn  on  the 
edge  of  the  marsh,  the  last  shore,  to  make  a  fire  and 
heat  some  food  before  setting  sail  for  the  islands. 

"  Good  God ! "  cried  Waring. 

A  boat  was  coming  after  them,  a  little  skiff  they 
both  knew,  and  in  it,  paddling,  in  her  white  dress,  sat 
Silver,  her  fur  mantle  at  her  feet  where  it  had  fallen 
unnoticed.  They  sprang  to  meet  her,  knee-deep  in  the 
icy  water ;  but  Waring  was  first,  and  lifted  her  slight 
form  in  his  arms. 

"I  have  found  you,  Jarvis,"  she  murmured,  laying 


CASTLE  NOWHERE.  57 

her  head  down  upon  his  shoulder ;  then  the  eyes  closed, 
and  the  hand  she  had  tried  to  clasp  around  his  neck 
fell  lifeless.  Close  to  the  fire,  wrapped  in  furs,  Waring 
held  her  in  his  arms,  while  the  old  man  bent  over  her, 
chafing  her  hands  and  little  icy  feet,  and  calling  her 
name  in  an  agony. 

"  Let  her  but  come  back  to  life,  and  I  will  say  not 
one  word,  not  one  word  more,"  he  cried  with  tears. 
"Who  am  I  that  I  should  torture  her?  You  shall 
go  back  with  us,  and  I  will  trust  it  all  to  God,  —  all 
to  God." 

"  But  what  if  I  will  not  go  back,  what  if  I  will  not 
accept  your  trust  ? "  said  Waring,  turning  his  head 
away  from  the  face  pillowed  on  his  breast. 

"I  do  not  trust  you,  I  trust  God;  he  will  guard 
her." 

"I  believe  he  will,"  said  the  young  man,  half  to 
himself.  And  then  they  bore  her  home,  not  knowing 
whether  her  spirit  was  still  with  them,  or  already  gone 
to  that  better  home  awaiting  it  in  the  next  country. 

That  night  the  thick  ice  came,  and  the  last  vessels 
fled  southward.  But  in  the  lonely  little  castle  there 
was  joy;  for  the  girl  was  saved,  barely,  with  fever, 
with  delirium,  with  long  prostration,  but  saved! 

When  weeks  had  passed,  and  she  was  in  her  low 
chair  again,  propped  with  cushions,  pallid  as  a  snow 
drop,  weak  and  languid,  but  still  there,  she  told  her 
story,  simply  and  without  comprehension  of  its  mean 
ing. 


58  CASTLE  NOWHERE. 

"  I  could  not  rest  that  night,"  she  said,  "  I  know  not 
why;  so  I  dressed  softly  and  slipped  past  Orange 
asleep  on  her  mattress  by  my  door,  and  found  you 
both  gone,  —  you,  father,  and  you,  Jarvis.  You  never 
go  out  at  night,  and  it  was  very  cold;  and  Jarvis  had 
taken  his  bag  and  his  knapsack,  and  all  the  little 
things  I  know  so  well.  His  gun  was  gone  from  the 
wall,  his  clothes  from  his  empty  room,  and  that  pic 
ture  of  the  girl  holding  up  the  fruit  was  not  on  his 
table.  From  that  I  knew  that  something  had  hap 
pened  ;  for  it  is  dear  to  Jarvis,  that  picture  of  the  girl," 
said  Silver  with  a  little  quiver  in  her  voice.  With  a 
quick  gesture  Waring  drew  the  picture  from  his  pocket 
and  threw  it  into  the  fire;  it  blazed,  and  was  gone  in 
jt  moment.  "  Then  I  went  after  you,"  said  Silver  with 
a  little  look  of  gratitude.  "  I  know  the  passage  through 
the  south  channels,  and  something  told  me  you  had 
gone  that  way.  It  was  very  cold." 

That  was  all,  no  reasoning,  no  excuse,  no  embarrass 
ment;  the  flight  of  the  little  sea-bird  straight  to  its 
mate. 

Life  flowed  on  again  in  the  old  channel,  Fog  quiet, 
Silver  happy,  and  Waring  in  a  sort  of  dream.  Winter 
was  full  upon  them,  and  the  castle  beleaguered  with  his 
white  armies  both  below  and  above,  on  the  water  and 
in  the  air.  The  two  men  went  ashore  on  the  ice  now, 
and  trapped  and  hunted  daily,  the  dogs  following. 
Fagots  were  cut  and  rough  roads  made  through  the 


CASTLE  NOWHEKE.  59 

i  forest.  One  would  have  supposed  they  were  planning 
for  a  lifelong  residence,  the  young  man  and  the  old, 
as  they  came  and  went  together,  now  on  the  snow- 
crust,  now  plunging  through  breast-deep  into  the  light 
dry  mass.  One  day  Waring  said,  "  Let  me  see  your 
reckoning.  Do  you  know  that  to-morrow  will  be 
Christmas  ? " 

"Silver  knows  nothing  of  Christmas,"  said  Fog, 
roughly. 

"Then  she  shall  know,"  replied  "Waring. 

Away  he  went  to  the  woods  and  brought  back  ever 
green.  In  the  night  he  decked  the  cabin-like  room, 
and  with  infinite  pains  constructed  a  little  Christmas- 
!  tree  and  hung  it  with  everything  he  could  collect  or 
contrive. 

"It;  is,  but  a  poor  thing,  after  all,"  he  said,  gloomily, 
as  he  stood  alone  surveying  his  work.  It  was  indeed 
a  shabby  little  tree,  only  redeemed  from  ugliness  by  a 
white  cross  poised  on  the  green  summit;  this  cross 
glittered  and  shone  in  the  firelight,  —  it  was  cut  from 
solid  ice. 

"Perhaps  I  can  help  you,"  said  old  Fog's  voice  be 
hind.  "I  did  not  show  you  this,  for  fear  it  would 
anger  you,  but  —  but  there  must  have  been  a  child  on 
board  after  all."  He  held  a  little  box  of  toys,  carefully 
packed  as  if  by  a  mother's  hand,  —  common  toys,  for 
she  was  only  the  captain's  wife,  and  the  schooner  a 
small  one ;  the  little  waif  had  floated  ashore  by  itself, 
and  Fog  had  seen  and  hidden  it. 


60  CASTLE  NOWHERE. 

Waring  said  nothing,  and  the  two  men  began  to  tie 
on  the  toys  in  silence.  But  after  a  while  they  warmed 
to  their  work  and  grew  eager  to  make  it  beautiful ;  the 
old  red  ribbon  that  Orange  had  given  was  considered 
a  precious  treasure-trove,  and,  cut  in  fragments,  it 
gayly  held  the  little  wooden  toys  in  place  on  the  green 
boughs. 

Fog,  grown  emulous,  rifled  the  cupboards  and  found 
small  cakes  freshly  baked  by  the  practised  hand  of  the 
old  cook;  these  he  hung  exultingly  on  the  higher 
boughs.  And  now  the  little  tree  was  full,  and  stood 
bravely  in  its  place  at  the  far  end  of  the  long  room, 
while  the  white  cross  looked  down  on  the  toys  of  the 
drowned  child  and  the  ribbon  of  the  slave,  and  seemed 
to  sanctify  them  for  their  new  use. 

Great  was  the  surprise  of  Silver  the  next  morning, 
and  many  the  questions  she  asked.  Out  in  the  world, 
they  told  her,  it  was  so ;  trees  like  that  were  decked 
for  children. 

"Am  I  a  child?"  said  Silver,  thoughtfully;  "what 
do  you  think,  papa  ? " 

"  What  do  you  think  ? "  said  Waring,  turning  the 
question. 

"  I  hardly  know ;  sometimes  I  think  I  am,  and  some 
times  not ;  but  it  is  of  no  consequence  what  I  am  as 
long  as  I  have  you,  —  you  and  papa.  Tell  me  more 
about  the  little  tree,  Jarvis.  What  does  it  mean  ? 
What  is  that  white  shining  toy  on  the  top  ?  Is  there 
a  story  about  it?" 


CASTLE  NOWHERE.  61 

"Yes,  there  is  a  story;  but  —  but  it  is  not  I  who 
should  tell  it  to  you,"  replied  the  young  man,  after  a 
moment's  hesitation. 

"  Why  not  ?  Whom  have  I  in  all  the  world  to  tell 
me,  save  you  ? "  said  fondly  the  sweet  child- voice. 

They  did  not  take  away  the  little  Christmas-tree, 
but  left  it  on  its  pedestal  at  the  far  end  of  the  long 
room  through  the  winter;  and  as  the  cross  melted 
slowly,  a  new  one  took  its  place,  and  shone  aloft  in 
the  firelight.  But  its  story  was  not  told. 

February  came,  and  with  it  a  February  thaw;  the 
ice  stirred  a  little,  and  the  breeze  coming  over  the 
floes  was  singularly  mild.  The  arctic  winds  and  the 
airs  from  the  Gulf  Stream  had  met  and  mingled,  and 
the  gray  fog  appeared  again,  waving  to  and  fro. 
"Spring  has  come,"  said  Silver;  "there  is  the  dear 
fog."  And  she  opened  the  window  of  the  flower-room, 
and  let  out  a  little  bird. 

"  It  will  find  no  resting-place  for  the  sole  of  its 
foot,  for  the  snow  is  over  the  face  of  the  whole  earth," 
said  Waring.  "  Our  ark  has  kept  us  cosily  through 
bitter  weather,  has  it  not,  little  one  ? "  (He  had 
adopted  a  way  of  calling  her  so.) 

"  Ark,"  said  Silver ;  "  what  is  that  ?  " 

"  Well,"  answered  Waring,  looking  down  into  her 
blue  eyes  as  they  stood  together  at  the  little  window, 
"  it  was  a  watery  residence  like  this ;  and  if  Japheth, 
—  he  was  always  my  favorite  of  the  three  —  had 


62  CASTLE  NOWHERE. 

had  you  there,  my  opinion  is  that  he  would  never 
have  come  down  at  all,  but  would  have  resided  per 
manently  on  Ararat." 

Silver  looked  up  into  his  face  with  a  smile,  not 
understanding  what  he  said,  nor  asking  to  under 
stand  ;  it  was  enough  for  her  that  he  was  there.  And 
as  she  gazed  her  violet  eyes  grew  so  deep,  so  soft, 
that  the  man-  for  once  (give  him  credit,  it  was  the 
first  time)  took  her  into  his  arms.  "  Silver,"  he 
whispered,  bending  over  her,  "  do  you  love  me  ? " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  in  her  simple,  unconscious 
way,  "  you  know  I  do,  Jarvis." 

No  color  deepened  in  her  fair  face  under  his  ardent 
gaze;  and,  after  a  moment,  he  released  her,  almost 
roughly.  The  next  day  he  told  old  Fog  that  he 
was  going. 

"Where?" 

"  Somewhere,  this  time.  I  've  had  enough  of  No 
where." 

"Why  do  you  go?" 

"Do  you  want  the  plain  truth,  old  man?  Here 
it  is,  then :  I  am  growing  too  fond  of  that  girl,  —  a 
little  more  and  I  shall  not  be  able  to  leave  her." 

"Then  stay;    she  loves  you." 

"A  child's  love." 

"  She  will  develop  —  " 

"  Not  into  my  wife  if  I  know  myself,"  said  War 
ing,  curtly. 


CASTLE  NOWHERE.  63 

Old  Fog  sat  silent  a  moment.  "  Is  she  not  lovely 
and  good  ? "  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"  She  is ;  but  she  is  your  daughter  as  well." 

"  She  is  not." 

"  She  is  not !     What  then  ? 

"I  —  I  do  not  know ;  I  found  her,  a  baby,  by  the 
wayside." 

"A  foundling!  So  much  the  better,  that  is  even 
a  step  lower,"  said  the  younger  man,  laughing  roughly. 
And  the  other  crept  away  as  though  he  had  been 
struck. 

Waring  set  about  his  preparations.  This  time  Sil 
ver  did  not  suspect  his  purpose.  She  had  passed  out 
of  the  quick,  intuitive  watchfulness  of  childhood. 
During  these  days  she  had  taken  up  the  habit  of 
sitting  by  herself  in  the  flower-room,  ostensibly  with 
her  book  or  sewing ;  but  when  they  glanced  in  through 
the  open  door,  her  hands  were  lying  idle  on  her  lap 
and  her  eyes  fixed  dreamily  on  some  opening  blossom. 
Hours  she  sat  thus,  without  stirring. 

Waring's  plan  was  a  wild  one ;  no  boat  could  sail 
through  the  ice,  no  foot  could  cross  the  wide  rifts  made 
by  the  thaw,  and  weeks  of  the  bitterest  weather  still 
lay  between  them  and  the  spring.  "Along-shore," 
he  said. 

"And  die  of  cold  and  hunger,"  answered  Fog. 

"  Old  man,  why  are  you  not  afraid  of  me  ? "  said 
Waring,  pausing  in  his  work  with  a  lowering  glance. 


64  CASTLE  NOWHERE. 

"Am  I  not  stronger  than  you,  and  the  master,  if  I 
so  choose,  of  your  castle  of  logs  ? " 

"  But  you  will  not  so  choose." 

"Do  not  trust  me  too  far!" 

"I  do  not  trust  you,  —  but  God." 

"  For  a  wrecker  and  a  murderer,  you  have,  I  must 
say,  a  remarkably  serene  conscience,"  sneered  Waring. 

Again  the  old  man  shrank,  and  crept  silently  away. 

But  when  in  the  early  dawn  a  dark  figure  stood  on 
the  ice  adjusting  its  knapsack,  a  second  figure  stole 
down  the  ladder.  "Will  you  go,  then,"  it  said,  "go 
and  leave  the  child  ? " 

"  She  is  no  child,"  answered  the  younger  man,  stern 
ly  ;  "  and  you  know  it." 

"To  me  she  is." 

"  I  care  not  what  she  is  to  you ;  but  she  shall  not 
be  more  to  me." 

"More  to  you?" 

"No  more  than  any  other  pretty  piece  of  wax 
work,"  replied  Waring,  striding  away  into  the  gray 
mist. 

Silver  came  to  breakfast  radiant,  her  small  head 
covered  from  forehead  to  throat  with  the  winding 
braids  of  gold,  her  eyes  bright,  her  cheeks  faintly 
tinged  with  the  icy  water  of  her  bath.  "Where  is 
Jarvis  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Gone  hunting,"  replied  old  Fog. 

"For  all  day?" 


CASTLE   NOWHERE.  65 

"Yes;  and  perhaps  for  all  night.  The  weather  is 
quite  mild,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  papa.  But  I  hope  it  will  soon  be  cold  again ; 
he  cannot  stay  out  long  then,"  said  the  girl,  gazing  out 
over  the  ice  with  wistful  eyes. 

The  danger  was  over  for  that  day;  but  the  next 
morning  there  it  was  again,  and  with  it  the  bitter 
cold. 

"  He  must  come  home  soon  now,"  said  Silver,  con 
fidently,  melting  the  frost  on  one  of  the  little  win 
dows  so  that  she  could  see  out  and  watch  for  his 
coining.  But  he  came  not.  As  night  fell  the  cold 
grew  intense ;  deadly,  clear,  and  still,  with  the  stars 
shining  brilliantly  in  the  steel-blue  of  the  sky.  Silver 
wandered  from  window  to  window,  wrapped  in  her  fur 
mantle  ;  a  hundred  times,  a  thousand  times  she  had 
scanned  the  ice-fields  and  the  snow,  the  lake  and  the 
shore.  When  the  night  closed  down,  she  crept  close 
to  the  old  man  who  sat  by  the  fire  in  silence,  pretend 
ing  to  mend  his  nets,  but  furtively  watching  her  every 
movement.  "  Papa,"  she  whispered,  "  where  is  he,  — 
where  is  he  ?  "  And  her  tears  fell  on  his  hands. 

"  Silver,"  he  said,  bending  over  her  tenderly,  "  do  I 
not  love  you  ?  Am  I  not  enough  for  you?  Think, 
dear,  how  long  we  have  lived  here,  and  how  happy 
we  have  been.  He  was  only  a  stranger.  Come,  let  us 
forget  him,  and  go  back  to  the  old  days." 

"  What !     Has  he  gone,  then  ?     Has  Jarvis  gone  ?  " 


66  CASTLE  NOWHERE. 

Springing  to  her  feet  she  confronted  him  with  clinched 
hands  and'dilated  eyes.  Of  all  the  words  she  had  heard 
but  one ;  he  had  gone !  The  poor  old  man  tried  to 
draw  her  down  again  into  the  shelter  of  his  arms,  hut 
she  seemed  turned  to  stone,  her  slender  form  was  rigid. 
"  Where  is  he  ?  Where  is  Jarvis  ?  What  have  you 
done  with  him,  —  you,  you  ! " 

The  quick  imconscious  accusation  struck  to  his 
heart.  "  Child,"  he  said  in  a  broken  voice,  "  I  tried  to 
keep  him.  I  would  have  given  him  my  place  in  your 
love,  in  your  life,  but  he  would  not.  He  has  gone, 
he  cares  not  for  you;  he  is  a  hard,  evil  man." 

"  He  is  not !  But  even  if  he  were,  I  love  him,"  said 
the  girl,  defiantly. 

Then  she  threw  up  her  arms  towards  heaven  (alas ! 
it  was  no  heaven  to  her,  poor  child)  as  if  in  appeal. 
"  Is  there  no  one  to  help  me  ?"  she  cried  aloud. 

"What  can  we  do,  dear?"  said  the  old  man,  stand 
ing  beside  her  and  smoothing  her  hair  gently.  "He 
would  not  stay,  —  I  could  not  keep  him  1 " 

"  /  could  have  kept  him." 

"You  would  not  ask  him  to  stay,  if  he  wished  to 
go?" 

"  Yes,  I  would ;  he  must  stay,  for  my  sake." 

"  But  if  he  had  loved  you,  dear,  he  would  not  have 
gone." 

"  Did  he  say  he  did  not  love  me  ?  "  demanded  Silver, 
with  gleaming  eyes. 


CASTLE  NOWHERE.  67 

Old  Fog  hesitated. 

"  Did  he  say  he  did  not  love  me  ?  Did  Jarvis  say 
that  ?  "  she  repeated,  seizing  his  arm  with  grasp  of  fire. 

"  Yes  ;  he  said  that." 

But  the  lie  meant  to  rouse  her  pride,  killed  it;  as 
if  struck  by  a  visible  hand,  she  swayed  and  fell  to  the 
floor. 

The  miserable  old  man  watched  her  all  the  night. 
She  was  delirious,  and  raved  of  Waring  through  the 
long  hours.  At  daylight  he  left  her  with  Orange, 
who,  not  understanding  these  white  men's  riddles,  and 
sorely  perplexed  by  Waring's  desertion,  yet  cherished 
her  darling  with  dumb  untiring  devotion,  and  watched 
her  every  breath. 

Following  the  solitary  trail  over  the  snow-covered 
ice  and  thence  along-shore  towards  the  east  journeyed 
old  Fog  all  day  in  the  teeth  of  the  wind,  dragging  a 
sledge  loaded  with  furs,  provisions,  and  dry  wood; 
the  sharp  blast  cut  him  like  a  knife,  and  the  dry 
snow-pellets  stung  as  they  touched  his  face,  and  clung 
to  his  thin  beard  coated  with  ice.  It  was  the  worst 
day  of  the  winter,  an  evil,  desolate,  piercing  day ;  no 
human  creature  should  dare  such  weather.  Yet  the 
old  man  journeyed  patiently  on  until  nightfall,  and 
would  have  gone  farther  had  not  darkness  concealed 
the  track;  his  fear  was  that  new  snow  might  fall 
deeply  enough  to  hide  it,  and  then  there  was  no  more 
hope  of  following.  But  nothing  could  be  done  at 


68  CASTLE  NOWHERE. 

night,  so  he  made  his  camp,  a  lodge  under  a  drift 
with  the  snow  for  walls  and  roof,  and  a  hot  fire  that 
barely  melted  the  edges  of  its  icy  hearth.  As  the 
blaze  flared  out  into  the  darkness,  he  heard  a  cry,  and 
followed ;  it  was  faint,  but  apparently  not  distant,  and 
after  some  search  he  found  the  spot ;  there  lay  Jarvis 
Waring,  helpless  and  nearly  frozen.  "  I  thought  you 
farther  on,"  he  said,  as  he  lifted  the  heavy,  inert  body. 

"  I  fell  and  injured  my  knee  yesterday ;  since  then 
I  have  been  freezing  slowly,"  replied  Waring  in  a 
muffled  voice.  "  I  have  been  crawling  backwards  and 
forwards  all  day  to  keep  myself  alive,  but  had  just 
given  it  up  when  I  saw  your  light." 

All  night  the  old  hands  worked  over  him,  and  they 
hated  the  body  they  touched;  almost  fiercely  they 
fed  and  nourished  it,  warmed  its  blood,  and  brought 
back  life.  In  the  dawning  Waring  was  himself  again ; 
weak,  helpless,  but  in  his  right  mind.  He  said  as 
much,  and  added,  with  a  touch  of  his  old  humor, 
"There  is  a  wrong  mind  you  know,  old  gentleman." 

The  other  made  no  reply;  his  task  done,  he  sat 
by  the  fire  waiting.  He  had  gone  after  this  fellow, 
driven  by  fate ;  he  had  saved  him,  driven  .by  fate. 
Now  what  had  fate  next  in  store  ?  He  warmed 
his  wrinkled  hands  mechanically  and  waited,  while 
the  thought  came  to  him  with  bitterness  that  his 
darling's  life  lay  at  the  mercy  of  this  man  who 
had  nothing  better  to  do,  on  coming  back  from  the 


CASTLE   NOWHERE.  69 

very  jaws  of  death,  than  make  jests.  But  old  Fog 
was  mistaken;  the  man  had  something  better  to  do, 
and  did  it.  Perhaps  he  noted  the  expression  of  the 
face  before  him ;  perhaps  he  did  not,  but  was  think 
ing,  young-man  fashion,  only  of  himself;  at  any  rate 
this  is  what  he  said :  "  I  was  a  fool  to  go.  Help  me 
back,  old  man ;  it  is  too  strong  for  me,  —  I  give  it  up." 

"  Back,  —  back  where  ?  "  said  the  other,  apathetically. 

Waring  raised  his  head  from  his  pillow  of  furs. 
"  Why  do  you  ask,  when  you  know  already  ?  Back  to 
Silver,  of  course ;  have  you  lost  your  mind  ? " 

His  harshness  came  from  within ;  in  reality  it  was 
meant  for  himself ;  the  avowal  had  cost  him  something 
as.it  passed  his  lips  in  the  form  of  words;  it  had  not 
seemed  so  when  in  the  suffering,  ard  the  cold,  and 
the  approach  of  death,  he  had  seen  his  own  soul  face 
to  face  and  realized  the  truth. 

So  the  two  went  back  to  the  castle,  the  saved  lying 
on  the  sledge,  the  savior  drawing  it;  the  wind  was 
behind  them  now,  and  blew  them  along.  And  when 
the  old  man,  weary  and  numb  with  cold,  reached  the 
ladder  at  last,  helped  Waring,  lame  and  irritable,  up 
to  the  little  snow-covered  balcony,  and  led  the  way 
to  Silver's  room,  —  when  Silver,  hearing  the  step, 
raised  herself  in  the  arms  of  the  old  slave  and  looked 
eagerly,  not  at  him,  no,  but  at  the  man  behind,  —  did 
he  shrink?  He  did  not;  but  led  the  reluctant,  van 
quished,  defiant,  half-angry,  half-shamed  lover  forward, 


70  CASTLE  NOWHERE. 

and  gave  his  darling  into  the  arms  that  seemed  again 
almost  unwilling,  so  strong  was  the  old  opposing  de 
termination  that  lay  bound  by  love's  bonds. 

Silver  regained  her  life  as  if  by  magic ;  not  so  War 
ing,  who  lay  suffering  and  irritable  on  the  lounge  in 
the  long  room,  while  the  girl  tended  him  with  a  joy 
that  shone  out  in  every  word,  every  tone,  every  motion. 
She  saw  not  his  little  tyrannies,  his  exacting  demands, 
his  surly  tempers ;  or  rather  she  saw  and  loved  them 
as  women  do  when  men  lie  ill  and  helpless  in  their 
hands.  And  old  Fog  sat  apart,  or  came  and  went  un 
noticed  ;  hours  of  the  cold  days  he  wandered  through 
the  forests,  visiting  the  traps  mechanically,  and  making 
tasks  for  himself  to  fill  up  the  time  ;  hours  of  the  cold 
evenings  he  paced  the  snow-covered  roof  alone.  He 
could  not  bear  to  see  them,  but  left  the  post  to  Orange, 
whose  black  face  shone  with  joy  and  satisfaction  over 
Waring's  return. 

But  after  a  time  fate  swung  around  (as  she  gen 
erally  does  if  impatient  humanity  would  but  give 
her  a  chance).  Waring's  health  grew,  and  so  did 
his  love.  He  had  been  like  a  strong  man  armed, 
keeping  his  palace ;  but  a  stronger  than  he  was  come, 
and,  the  combat  over,  he  went  as  far  the  other  way, 
and  adored  the  very  sandals  of  the  conqueror.  The 
gates  were  open,  and  all  the  floods  were  out. 

And  Silver  ?  As  he  advanced,  she  withdrew.  (It 
is  always  so  in  love,  up  to  a  certain  point ;  and 


.CASTLE  NOWHERE.  71 

beyond  that  point  lies,  alas !  the  broad  monotonous 
country  of  commonplace.) 

This  impetuous,  ardent  lover  was  not  the  Jarvis 
she  had  known,  the  Jarvis  who  had  been  her  master, 
and  a  despotic  one  at  that.  Frightened,  shy,  bewil 
dered,  she  fled  away  from  all  her  dearest  joys,  and 
stayed  by  herself  in  the  flower-room  with  the  bar 
across  the  door,  only  emerging  timidly  at  meal-times 
and  stealing  into  the  long  room  like  a  little  wraith ; 
a  rosy  wraith  now,  for  at  last  she  had  learned  to 
blush.  Waring  was  angry  at  this  desertion,  but  only 
the  more  in  love ;  for  the  face  had  lost  its  infantile 
calm,  the  violet  eyes  veiled  themselves  under  his 
gaze,  and  the  unconscious  child-mouth  began  to  try 
to  control  and  conceal  its  changing  expressions,  and 
only  succeeded  in  betraying  them  more  helplessly 
than  ever.  Poor  little  solitary  maiden-heart ! 

Spring  was  near  now;  soft  airs  came  over  the  ice 
daily,  and  stirred  the  water  beneath  ;  then  the  old 
man  spoke.  He  knew  what  was  coming,  he  saw  it 
all,  and  a  sword  was  piercing  his  heart ;  but  bravely 
he  played  his  part.  "  The  ice  will  move  out  soon, 
in  a  month  or  less  you  can  sail  safely,"  he  said, 
breaking  the  silence  one  night  when  they  two  sat 
by  the  fire,  Waring  moody  and  restless,  for  Silver 
had  openly  repulsed  him,  and  fled  away  early  in  the 
evening.  "  She  is  trifling  with  me,"  he  thought,  "  or 
else  she  does  not  know  what  love  is.  By  heavens, 


72  CASTLE  NOWHERE. 

I  will  teach  her  though  — ':  As  far  as  this  his 
mind  had  journeyed  when  Fog  spoke.  "In  a  month 
you  can  sail  safely,  and  I  suppose  you  will  go  for 
good  this  time  ?  " 

"Yes." 

Fog  waited.  Waring  kicked  a  fallen  log  into  place, 
lit  his  pipe,  then  let  it  go  out,  moved  his  chair  for 
ward,  then  pushed  it  back  impatiently,  and  finally 
spoke.  "  Of  course  I  shall  take  Silver ;  I  intend  to 
make  Silver  my  wife." 

"At  last?" 

"At  last.     No  wonder  you  are  glad  — " 

"Glad!"  said  old  Fog,— "glad!"  But  the  words 
were  whispered,  and  the  young  man  went  on  un 
heeding. 

"  Of  course  it  is  a  great  thing  for  you  to  have 
the  child  off  your  hands  and  placed  in  a  home  so 
high  above  your  expectations.  Love  is  a  strange 
power.  I  do  not  deny  that  I  have  fought  against  it, 
but — but  —  why  should  I  conceal?  I  love  Silver  with 
all  my  soul,  she  seems  to  have  grown  into  my  very 
being." 

It  was  frankly  and  strongly  uttered ;  the  good 
side  of  Jarvis  Waring  came  uppermost  for  the  mo 
ment. 

Old  Fog  leaned  forward  and  grasped  his  hand.  "I 
know  you  do,"  he  said.  "  I  know  something  of  men, 
and  I  have  wratched  you  closely,  Waring.  It  is  for 


CASTLE   NOWHERE.  73 

this  love  that  I  forgive —  I  mean  that  I  am  glad 
and  thankful  for  it,  very  thankful." 

"And  you  have  reason  to  be,"  said  the  younger 
man,  withdrawing  into  his  pride  again.  "  As  my 
wife,  Silver  will  have  a  home,  a  circle  of  friends, 
which  —  But  you  could  not  understand  ;  let  it  pass. 
And  now,  tell  me  all  you  know  of  her." 

The  tone  was  a  command,  and  the  speaker  leaned 
back  in  his  chair  with  the  air  of  an  owner  as  he 
relighted  his  pipe.  But  Fog  did  not  shrink.  "  Will 
you  have  the  whole  story  ? "  he  asked  humbly. 

"As  well  now  as  ever,  I  suppose,  but  be  as  brief 
as  possible,"  said  the  young  man  in  a  lordly  manner. 
Had  he  not  just  conferred  an  enormous  favor,  an 
alliance  which  might  be  called  the  gift  of  a  prince, 
on  this  dull  old  backwoodsman  ? 

"  Forty  years  ago  or  thereabouts,"  began  Fog  in  a 
low  voice,  "a  crime  was  committed  in  New  York 
City.  I  shall  not  tell  you  what  it  was,  there  is  no 
need ;  enough  that  the  whole  East  was  stirred,  and  a 
heavy  reward  was  offered  for  .the  man  who  did  the 
deed.  I  am  that  man." 

"Waring  pushed  back  his  chair,  a  horror  came  over 
him,  his  hand  sought  for  his  pistol;  but  the  voice 
went  on  unmoved.  "  Shall  I  excuse  the  deed  to  you, 
boy  ?  No,  I  will  not.  It  was  done  and  I  did  it ; 
that  is  enough,  the  damning  fact  that  confronts  and 
silences  all  talk  of  motive  or  cause.  This  much  only 


74  CASTLE  NOWHERE. 

will  I  say;  to  the  passion  of  the  act  deliberate  in 
tention  was  not  added,  and  there  was  no  gain  for 
the  doer;  only  loss,  the  black  eternal  loss  of  every 
thing  in  heaven  above,  on  the  earth  beneath,  or  in 
the  waters  that  are  under  the  earth,  for  hell  itself 
seemed  to  spew  me  out.  At  least  so  I  thought  as  I 
fled  away,  the  mark  of  Cain  upon  my  brow;  the 
horror  was  so  strong  upon  me,  that  I  could  not  kill 
myself,  I  feared  to  join  the  dead.  I  went  to  and  fro 
on  the  earth,  and  walked  up  and  down  in  it;  I  fled 
to  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  sea,  and  yet  came  back 
again,  moved  by  a  strange  impulse  to  be  near  the 
scene  of  my  crime.  After  years  had  passed,  and 
with  them  the  memory  of  the  deed  from  the  minds 
of  others,  though  not  from  mine,  I  crept  to  the  old 
house  where  my  one  sister  was  living  alone,  and 
made  myself  known  to  her.  She  left  her  home,  a 
forlorn  place,  but  still  a  home,  and  followed  me  with 
a  sort  of  dumb  affection, —  poor  old  woman.  She  was 
my  senior  by  fifteen  years,  and  I  had  been  her  pride ; 
and  so  she  went  with  me  from  the  old  instinct, 
which  still  remained,  although  the  pride  was  dead, 
crushed  by  slow  horror.  We  kept  together  after  that, 
two  poor  hunted  creatures  instead  of  one;  we  were 
always  fleeing,  always  imagining  that  eyes  knew  us, 
that  fingers  pointed  us  out.  I  called  her  Shadow, 
and  together  we  took  the  name  of  Fog,  a  common 
enough  name,  but  to  us  meaning  that  we  were  noth- 


CASTLE  NOWHERE.  75 

ing,  creatures  of  the  mist,  wandering  to  and  fro  by 
night,  but  in  the  morning  gone.     At  last  one  day  the 
cloud  over  my  mind   seemed  to  lighten  a  little,  and 
the  thought  came  to  me  that  no  punishment  can  en 
dure   forever,   without  impugning  the  justice   of  our 
great  Creator.      A  crime  is  committed,  perhaps  in  a 
moment;  the  ensuing  suffering,  the  results,  linger  on 
earth,  it  may  be  for  some  years ;  but  the  end  of  it 
surely  comes   sooner   or  later,  and  it  is  as  though  it 
had  never  been.      Then,  for  that  crime,  shall  a   soul 
suffer  forever,  —  not    a    thousand    years,   a   thousand 
ages  if  you  like,  but  forever?      Out  upon  the  mon 
strous   idea !      Let  a  man  do  evil  every  moment   of 
his  life,  and  let  his  life  be  the  full  threescore  years 
and  ten;    shall  there  not  come  a  period  in  the  end 
less   cycles   of    eternity   when   even   his    punishment 
shall  end  ?     What  kind  of  a  God  is  he  whom  your 
theologians  have  held  up  to  us,  —  a  God  who  creates 
us  at  his  pleasure,  without  asking  whether  or  not  we 
wish  to  be  created,  who  endows  us  with  certain  wild 
passions  and  capacities  for  evil,  turns  us  loose  into  a 
world  of  suffering,  and  then,  for  our  misdeeds  there, 
our  whole   lives   being  less   than  one   instant's   time 
in    his    sight,    punishes    us    forever !      Never-ending 
tortures  throughout  the  countless  ages  of  eternity  for 
the  little  crimes  of  threescore  years  and  ten !      Hea 
thendom  shows  no  god  so  monstrous  as  this.     O  great 
Creator,  0  Father  of  our  souls,  of  all  the  ills  done 


76  CASTLE  NOWHERE. 

on  the  face  of  thy  earth,  this  lie  against  thy  justice 
and  thy  goodness,  is  it  not  the  greatest?  The 
thought  came  to  me,  as  I  said,  that  no  punishment 
could  endure  forever,  that  somewhere  in  the  future  I, 
even  I,  should  meet  pardon  and  rest.  That  day  I 
found  by  the  wayside  a  little  child,f  scarcely  more  than 
a  baby;  it  had  wandered  out  of  the  poorhouse,  where 
its  mother  had  died  the  week  before,  a  stranger  passing 
through  the  village.  No  one  knew  anything  about 
her  nor  cared  to  know,  for  she  was  almost  in  rags, 
fair  and  delicate  once  they  told  me,  but  wasted  with 
illness  and  too  far  gone  to  talk.  Then  a  second 
thought  came  to  me,  —  expiation.  I  would  take  this 
forlorn  little  creature  and  bring  her  up  as  my  own 
child,  tenderly,  carefully,  —  a  life  for  a  life.  My 
poor  old  sister  took  to  the  child  wonderfully,  it 
seemed  to  brighten  her  desolation  into  something 
that  was  almost  happiness;  we  wandered  awhile 
longer,  and  then  came  westward  through  the  lakes, 
but  it  was  several  years  before  we  were  fairly  settled 
here.  Shadow  took  care  of  the  baby  and  made  her 
little  dresses ;  then,  when  the  time  came  to  teach  her 
to  sew  and  read,  she  said  more  help  was  needed,  and 
went  alone  to  the  towns  below  to  find  a  fit  servant, 
coining  back  in  her  silent  way  with  old  Orange,  an 
other  stray  lost  out  of  its  place  in  the  world,  and 
suffering  from  want  in  the  cold  Northern  city.  You 
must  not  think  that  Silver  is  totally  ignorant ;  Shadow 


CASTLE  NOWHERE.  77 

had  the  education  of  her  day,  poor  thing,  for  ours 
was  a  good  old  family  as  old  families  go  in  this  new 
country  of  ours,  where  three  generations  of  well-to-do 
people  constitute  aristocracy.  But  religion,  so  called, 
I  have  not  taught  her.  Is  she  any  the  worse  for 
its  want?" 

"I  will  teach  her,"  said  Waring,  passing  over  the 
question  (which  was  a  puzzling  one),  for  the  new  idea, 
the  strange  interest  he  felt  in  the  task  before  him,  the 
fair  pure  mind  where  his  hand,  and  his  alone,  would  be 
the  first  to  write  the  story  of  good  and  evil. 

"That  I  should  become  attached  to  the  child  was 
natural,"  continued  old  Fog  ;  "  but  God  gave  it  to  me  to 
love  her  with  so  great  a  love  that  my  days  have  flown ; 
for  her  to  sail  out  over  the  stormy  water,  for  her  to 
hunt  through  the  icy  woods,  for  her  to  dare  a  thousand 
deaths,  to  labor,  to  save,  to  suffer,  —  these  have  been 
my  pleasures  through  all  the  years.  When  I  came 
home,  there  she  was  to  meet  me,  her  sweet  voice  call 
ing  me  father,  the  only  father  she  could  ever  know. 
When  my  poor  old  sister  died,  I  took  her  away  in 
my  boat  by  night  and  buried  her  in  deep  water ;  and 
so  I  did  with  the  boy  we  had  here  for  a  year  or  two, 
saved  from  a  wreck.  My  darling  knows  nothing  of 
death;  I  could  not  tell  her." 

"And  those  wrecks,"  said  Waring;  "how  do  you 
make  them  balance  with  your  scheme  of  expiation  ? " 

The  old  man  sat  silent  a  moment ;  then  he  brought 


78  CASTLE  NOWHERE. 

his  hand  down  violently  on  the  table  by  his  side.  "  I 
will  not  have  them  brought  up  in  that  way,  I  tell  you 
I  will  not !  Have  I  not  explained  that  I  was  desper 
ate  ?  "  he  said  in  an  excited  voice.  "  What  are  one  or 
two  miserable  crews  to  the  delicate  life  of  my  beautiful 
child  ?  And  the  men  had  their  chances,  too,  in  spite 
of  my  lure.  Does  not  every  storm  threaten  them  with 
deathly  force  ?  Wait  until  you  are  tempted,  before 
you  judge  me,  boy.  But  shall  I  tell  you  the  whole  ? 
Listen,  then.  Those  wrecks  were  the  greatest  sacri 
fices/  the  most  bitter  tasks  of  my  hard  life,  the  nearest 
approach  I  have  yet  made  to  the  expiation.  Do  you 
suppose  I  wished  to  drown  the  men  ?  Do  you  suppose 
I  did  not  know  the  greatness  of  the  crime  ?  Ah,  I 
knew  it  only  too  well,  and  yet  I  sailed  out  and  did  the 
deed  !  It  was  for  her,  —  to  keep  her  from  suffering ; 
so  I  sacrificed  myself  unflinchingly.  I  would  murder 
a  thousand  men  in  cold  blood,  and  bear  the  thousand 
additional  punishments  without  a  murmur  throughout 
a  thousand  ages  of  eternity,  to  keep  my  darling  safe 
and  warm.  Do  you  not  see  that  the  whole  was  a  self- 
immolation,  the  greatest,  the  most  complete  I  could 
make  ?  I  vowed  to  keep  my  darling  tenderly.  I  have 
kept  my  vow ;  see  that  you  keep  yours." 

The  voice  ceased,  the  story  was  told,  and  the  teller 
gone.  The  curtain  over  the  past  was  never  lifted 
again ;  but  often,  in  after  years,  Waring  thought  of  this 
strange  life  and  its  stranger  philosophy.  He  could  not 
judge  them.  Can  we  ? 


CASTLE  NOWHERE.  79 

The  next  day  the  talk  turned  upon  Silver.  "  I 
know  you  love  her,"  said  the  old  man,  "but  how 
much  ? " 

"  Does  it  need  the  asking  ?  "  answered  Waring  with 
a  short  laugh  ;  "  am  I  not  giving  up  my  name,  my  life, 
into  her  hands  ? " 

"  You  could  not  give  them  into  hands  more  pure." 

"  I  know  it ;  I  am  content.  And  yet,  I  sacrifice 
something,"  replied  the  young  man,  thinking  of  his 
home,  his  family,  his  friends. 

Old  Fog  looked  at  him.  "  Do  you  hesitate  ? "  he 
said,  breaking  the  pause. 

"Of  course  I  do  not ;  why  do  you  ask  ? "  replied 
Waring,  irritably.  "  But  some  things  may  be  par 
doned,  I  think,  in  a  case  like  mine." 

"  I  pardon  them." 

"  I  can  teach  her,  of  course,  and  a  year  or  so  among 
cultivated  people  will  work  wonders ;  I  think  I  shall 
take  her  abroad,  first.  How  soon  did  you  say  we 
could  go  ? " 

"  The  ice  is  moving.  There  will  be  vessels  through 
the  straits  in  two  or  three  weeks,"  replied  Fog.  His 
voice  shook.  Waring  looked  up;  the  old  man  was 
weeping.  "  Forgive  me,"  he  said,  brokenly,  "  but  the 
little  girl  is  very  dear  to  me." 

The  younger  man  was  touched.  "  She  shall  be  as 
dear  to  me  as  she  has  been  to  you,"  he  said ;  "  do  not 
fear.  My  love  is  proved  by  the  very  struggle  I  have 


80  CASTLE  NOWHEKE. 

made  against  it.  I  venture  to  say  no  man  ever  fought 
harder  against  himself  than  I  have  in  this  old  castle 
of  yours.  I  kept  that  Titian  picture  as  a  counter- 
charm.  It  resembles  a  woman  who,  at  a  word,  will 
give  me  herself  and  her  fortune,  —  a  woman  high  in  the 
cultivated  circles  of  cities  both  here  and  abroad,  beauti 
ful,  accomplished,  a  queen  in  her  little  sphere.  But  all 
was  useless.  That  long  night  in  the  snow,  when  I 
crawled  backwards  and  forwards  to  keep  myself  from 
freezing,  it  came  to  me  with  power  that  the  whole 
of  earth  and  all  its  gifts  compared  not  with  this  love. 
Old  man,  she  will  be  happy  with  me." 

"I  know  it." 

"  Did  you  foresee  this  end  ?  "  asked  Waring  after  a 
while,  watching,  as  he  spoke,  the  expression  of  the 
face  before  him.  He  could  not  rid  himself  of  the  be 
lief  that  the  old  man  had  laid  his  plans  deftly. 

"  I  could  only  hope  for  it :  I  saw  that  she  loved 
you." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  the  younger  man,  magnanimously, 
"  it  was  natural,  after  all.  Your  expiation  has  ended 
better  than  you  hoped ;  for  the  little  orphan  child  you 
have  reared  has  found  a  home  and  friends,  and  you 
yourself  need  work  no  more.  Choose  your  abode  here 
or  anywhere  else  in  the  West,  and  I  will  see  that  you 
are  comfortable." 

"  I  will  stay  on  here." 

"As  you  please.     Silver  will  not  forget  you;   she 


CASTLE  NOWHERE.  81 

will  write  often.  I  think  I  will  go  first  up  the  Ehine 
and  then  into  Switzerland,"  continued  Waring,  going 
back  to  himself  and  his  plans  with  the  matter-of- 
course  egotism  of  youth  and  love.  And  old  Fog  lis 
tened. 

What  need  to  picture  the  love-scene  that  followed  ? 
The  next  morning  a  strong  hand  knocked  at  the  door 
of  the  flower-room,  and  the  shy  little  maiden  within 
had  her  first  lesson  in  love,  or  rather  in  its  expression, 
while  all  the  blossoms  listened  and  the  birds  looked 
on  approvingly.  To  do  him  justice,  Waring  was  an 
humble  suitor  when  alone  with  her ;  she  was  so  fair,  so 
pure,  so  utterly  ignorant  of  the  world  arid  of  life,  that 
he  felt  himself  unworthy,  and  bowed  his  head.  But 
the  mood  passed,  and  Silver  liked  him  better  when  the 
old  self-assertion  and  quick  tone  of  command  came 
uppermost  again.  She  knew  not  good  from  evil,  she 
could  not  comprehend  or  analyze  the  feeling  in  her 
heart;  but  she  loved  this  stranger,  this  master,  with 
the  whole  of  her  being.  Jarvis  Waring  knew  good 
from  evil  (more  of  the  latter  knew  he  than  of  the  for 
mer),  he  comprehended  and  analyzed  fully  the  feeling 
that  possessed  him ;  but,  man  of  the  world  as  he  was, 
he  loved  this  little  water-maiden,  this  fair  pagan,  this 
strange  isolated  girl,  with  the  whole  force  of  his  nature. 
"Silver,"  he  said  to  her,  seriously  enough,  "do  you 
know  how  much  I  love  you  ?  I  am  afraid  to  think 
what  life  would  seem  without  you." 


82  CASTLE  NOWHERE. 

"  Why  think  of  it,  then,  since  I  am  here  ? "  replied 
Silver.  "  Do  you  know,  Jarvis,  I  think  if  I  had  not 
loved  you  so  much,  you  would  not  have  loved  me, 
and  then  —  it  would  have  been  —  that  is,  I  mean  — 
it  would  have  been  different—  She  paused;  un 
used  to  reasoning  or  to  anything  like  argument,  her 
own  words  seemed  to  bewilder  her. 

Waring  laughed,  but  soon  grew  serious  again.  "  Sil 
ver,"  he  said,  taking  her  into  his  arms,  "  are  you  sure 
that  you  can  love  me  as  I  crave  ? "  (For  he  seemed 
at  times  tormented  by  the  doubt  as  to  whether  she 
was  anything  more  than  a  beautiful  child.)  He  held 
her  closely  and  would  not  let  her  go,  compelling  her 
to  meet  his  ardent  eyes.  A  change  came  over  the 
girl,  a  sudden  red  flashed  up  into  her  temples  and 
down  into  her  white  throat.  She  drew  herself  impet 
uously  away  from  her  lover's  arms  and  fled  from  the 
room.  "I  am  not  sure  but  that  she  is  a  water- 
sprite,  after  all,"  grumbled  Waring,  as  he  followed  her. 
But  it  was  a  pleasure  now  to  grumble  and  pretend 
to  doubt,  since  from  that  moment  he  was  sure. 

The  next  morning  Fog  seemed  unusually  cheerful. 

"No  wonder,"  thought  Waring.  But  the  character 
of  benefactor  pleased  him,  and  he  appeared  in  it 
constantly. 

"  We  must  have  the  old  castle  more  comfortable ; 
I  will  try  to  send  up  furniture  from  below,"  he  re 
marked,  while  pacing  to  and  fro  in  the  evening. 


CASTLE  NOWHERE.  83 

"  Is  n't  it  comfortable  now  ?  "  said  Silver.  "  I  am 
sure  I  always  thought  this  room  beautiful." 

"What,  this  clumsy  imitation  of  a  second-class 
Western  steamer  ?  Child,  it  is  hideous  ! " 

"  Is  it  ? "  said  Silver,  looking  around  in  innocent 
surprise,  while  old  Fog  listened  in  silence.  Hours  of 
patient  labor  and  risks  not  a  few  over  the  stormy  lake 
were  associated  with  each  one  of  the  articles  Waring 
so  cavalierly  condemned. 

Then  it  was,  "  How  you  do  look,  old  gentleman  ! 
I  must  really  send  you  up  some  new  clothes.  —  Silver, 
how  have  you  been  able  to  endure  such  shabby  rags 
so  long  ?  All  the  years  before  I  came,  did  it  never 
force  itself  upon  you  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,  —  I  never  noticed ;  it  was  always 
just  papa,  you  know,"  replied  Silver,  her  blue  eyes 
resting  011  the  old  man's  clothes  with  a  new  and  per 
plexed  attention. 

But  Fog  bore  himself  cheerily.  "He  is  right,  Sil 
ver,"  he  said,  "  I  am  shabby  indeed.  But  when  you 
go  out  into  the  world,  you  will  soon  forget  it." 

"  Yes,"  said  Silver,  tranquilly. 

The  days  flew  by  and  the  ice  moved  out.  This  is 
the  phrase  that  is  always  used  along  the  lakes.  The 
ice  "moves  out"  of  every  harbor  from  Ogdensburg 
to  Duluth.  You  can  see  the  great  white  floes  drift 
away  into  the  horizon,  and  the  question  comes, 
Where  do  they  go  ?  Do  they  not  meet  out  there  the 


84  CASTLE  NOWHERE. 

counter  floes  from  the  Canada  side,  and  then  do  they 
all  join  hands  and  sink  at  a  given  signal  to  the  bot 
tom  ?  Certainly,  there  is  nothing  melting  in  the 
mood  of  the  raw  spring  winds  and  clouded  skies. 

"  What  are  your  plans  ? "  asked  old  Fog,  abruptly, 
one  morning  when  the  gulls  had  flown  out  to  sea, 
and  the  fog  came  stealing  up  from  the  south. 

"  For  what  ?  " 

"  For  the  marriage." 

"Aha!"  thought  Waring,  with  a  smile  of  covert 
amusement,  "he  is  in  a  hurry  to  secure  the  prize,  is 
he  ?  The  sharp  old  fellow  ! "  Aloud  he  said,  "  I 
thought  we  would  all  three  sail  over  to  Mackinac ; 
and  there  we  could  be  married,  Silver  and  I,  by  the 
fort  chaplain,  and  take  the  first  Buffalo  steamer; 
you  could  return  here  at  your  leisure." 

"  Would  it  not  be  a  better  plan  to  bring  a  clergy 
man  here,  and  then  you  two  could  sail  without  me  ? 
I  am  not  as  strong  as  I  was ;  I  feel  that  I  cannot 
bear —  I  mean  that  you  had  better  go  without  me." 

"  As  you  please  ;  I  thought  it  would  be  a  change 
for  you,  that  was  all." 

"  It  would  only  prolong  —  No,  I  think,  if  you 
are  willing,  we  will  have  the  marriage  here,  and  then 
you  can  sail  immediately." 

"  Very  well ;  but  I  did  not  suppose  you  would  be 
in  such  haste  to  part  with  Silver,"  said  Waring,  un 
able  to  resist  showing  his  comprehension  of  what  he 


CASTLE  NOWHERE.  85 

considered  the  manoeuvres  of  the  old  man.  Then, 
waiving  further  discussion,  —  "  And  where  shall  we 
find  a  clergyman  ? "  he  asked. 

"  There  is  one  over  on  Beaver." 

"He  must  be  a  singular  sort  of  a  divine  to  be 
living  there  ! " 

"  He  is ;  a  strayed  spirit,  as  it  were,  but  a  genuine 
clergyman  of  the  Presbyterian  church,  none  the  less. 
I  never  knew  exactly  what  he  represented  there,  but 
I  think  he  came  out  originally  as  a  sort  of  mission 
ary." 

"  To  the  Mormons,"  said  Waring,  laughing ;  for  he 
had  heard  old  Fog  tell  many  a  story  of  the  Latter- 
Day  Saints,  who  had  on  Beaver  Island  at  that  time 
their  most  eastern  settlement. 

"No;  to  the  Indians,  —  sent  out  by  some  of  those 
New  England  societies,  you  know.  When  he  reached 
the  islands,  he  found  the  Indians  mostly  gone,  and 
those  who  remained  were  all  Eoman  Catholics.  But 
he  settled  down,  farmed  a  little,  hunted  a  little,  fished 
a  little,  and  held  a  service  all  by  himself  occasionally  in 
an  old  log-house,  just  often  enough  to  draw  his  salary 
and  to  write  up  in  his  semiannual  reports.  He  is  n't  a 
bad  sort  of  a  man  in  his  way." 

"  And  how  does  he  get  on  with  the  Mormons  ? " 

"Excellently.  He  lets  them  talk,  and  sells  them 
fish,  and  shuts  his  eyes  to  everything  else." 

"  What  is  his  name  ?  " 


86  CASTLE  NOWHERE. 

"  Well,  over  there  they  call  him  the  Preacher,  princi 
pally  because  he  does  not  preach,  I  suppose.  It  is  a 
way  they  have  over  on  Beaver  to  call  people  names ; 
they  call  me  Believer." 

"  Believer  ? " 

"Yes,  because  I  believe  nothing;  at  least  so  they 
think." 

A  few  days  later,  out  they  sailed  over  the  freed 
water,  around  the  point,  through  the  sedge-gate  grow 
ing  green  again,  across  the  channelled  marsh,  and  out 
towards  the  Beavers,  —  Fog  and  Waring,  armed  as  if 
for  a  foray. 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Waring. 

"  It 's  safer  ;  the  Mormons  are  a  queer  lot,"  was  the 
reply. 

When  they  came  in  sight  of  the  islands,  the  younger 
man  scanned  them  curiously.  Some  years  later  an  ex 
pedition  composed  of  exasperated  crews  of  lake  schoon 
ers,  exasperated  fishermen,  exasperated  mainland  set 
tlers,  sailed  westward  through  the  straits  bound  for 
these  islands,  armed  to  the  teeth  and  determined  upon 
vengeance  and  slaughter.  False  lights,  stolen  nets, 
and  stolen  wives  were  their  grievances ;  and  no  aid 
coming  from  the  general  government,  then  as  now 
sorely  perplexed  over  the  Mormon  problem,  they  took 
justice  into  their  own  hands  and  sailed  bravely  out, 
with  the  stars  and  stripes  floating  from  the  mast  of 
their  flag-ship, —an  old  scow  impressed  for  military 


CASTLE  NOWHERE.  87 

service.  But  this  was  later ;  and  when  Fog  and  Waring 
came  scudding  into  the  harbor,  the  wild  little  village 
existed  in  all  its  pristine  outlawry,  a  city  of  refuge  for 
the  flotsam  vagabondage  of  the  lower  lakes. 

"  Perhaps  he  will  not  come  with  us,"  suggested 
Waring. 

"I  have  thought  of  that,  but  it  need  not  delay  us 
long,"  replied  Fog ;  "  we  can  kidnap  him." 

"  Kidnap  him  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  he  is  but  a  small  chap,"  said  the  old  man, 
tranquilly. 

They  fastened  their  boat  to  the  long  log-dock, 
and  started  ashore.  The  houses  of  the  settlement 
straggled  irregularly  along  the  beach  and  inland  to 
wards  the  fields  where  fine  crops  were  raised  by  the 
Saints,  who  had  made  here,  as  is  their  custom  every 
where,  a  garden  in  the  wilderness ;  the  only  defence 
was  simple  but  strong,  —  an  earthwork  on  one  of  the 
white  sand-hills  back  of  the  village,  over  whose  ram 
part  peeped  two  small  cannon,  commanding  the  harbor. 
Once  on  shore,  however,  a  foe  found  only  a  living, 
moving  rampart  of  flesh  and  blood,  as  reckless  a  set  of 
villains  as  New  World  history  can  produce.  But  this 
rampart  came  together  only  in  times  of  danger ;  ordi 
nary  visitors,  coming  by  twos  and  threes,  they  wel 
comed  or  murdered  as  they  saw  fit,  or  according  to 
the  probable  contents  of  their  pockets,  each  man  for 
himself  and  his  family.  Some  of  these  patriarchal  gen- 


88  CASTLE  NOWHERE. 

tlemen  glared  from  their  windows  at  Fog  arid  Waring 
as  they  passed  along  ;  but  the  worn  clothes  not  promis 
ing  much,  they  simply  invited  them  to  dinner;  they 
liked  to  hear  the  news,  when  there  was  nothing  else 
going  on.  Old  Fog  excused  himself.  They  had  bus 
iness,  he  said,  with  the  Preacher  ;  was  he  at  home  ? 

He  was ;  had  anything  been  sent  to  him  from  the 
East,  —  any  clothes,  now,  for  the  Indians  ? 

Old  Fog  had  heard  something  of  a  box  at  Mackinac, 
waiting  for  a  schooner  to  bring  it  over.  He  was  glad 
it  was  on  the  way,  it  would  be  of  so  much  use  to  the 
Indians,  —  they  wore  so  many  clothes. 

The  patriarchs  grinned,  and  allowed  the  two  to  pass 
on.  Waring  had  gazed  within,  meanwhile,  and  discov 
ered  the  plural  wives,  more  or  less  good-looking,  gen 
erally  less ;  they  did  not  seem  unhappy,  however,  not 
so  much  so  as  many  a  single  one  he  had  met  in  more 
luxurious  homes,  and  he  said  to  himself,  "  Women  of 
the  lower  class  are  much  better  and  happier  when  well 
curbed."  It  did  not  occur  to  him  that  possibly  the 
evil  tempers  of  men  of  the  lower  class  are  made 
more  endurable  by  a  system  of  co-operation ;  one  reed 
bends,  breaks,  and  dies,  but  ten  reeds  together  can 
endure. 

The  Preacher  was  at  home  on  the  outskirts,  —  a  lit 
tle  man,  round  and  rosy,  with  black  eyes  arid  a  cheery 
voice.  He  was  attired  entirely  in  blanket-cloth,  baggy 
trousers  and  a  long  blouse,  so  that  he  looked  not  un- 


CASTLE   NOWHERE.  89 

like  a  Turkish  Santa  Glaus,  Oriental  as  to  under,  and 
arctic  as  to  upper  rigging.  "  Are  you  a  clergyman  ? " 
said  Waring,  inspecting  him  with  curious  eyes. 

"  If  you  doubt  it,  look  at  this,"  said  the  little  man ; 
and  he  brought  out  a  clerical  suit  of  limp  black  cloth, 
and  a  ministerial  hat  much  the  worse  for  wear.  These 
articles  he  suspended  from  a  nail,  so  that  they  looked 
as  if  a  very  poor  lean  divine  had  hung  himself  there. 
Then  he  sat  down,  and  took  his  turn  at  staring.  "  I  do 
not  bury  the  dead,"  he  remarked  after  a  moment,  as 
if  convinced  that  the  two  shabby  hunters  before  him 
could  have  no  other  errand. 

Waring  was  about  to  explain,  but  old  Fog  stopped 
him  with  a  glance.  "  You  are  to  come  with  us,  sir," 
he  said  courteously ;  "  you  will  be  well  treated,  well 
paid,  and  returned  in  a  few  days." 

"  Come  with  you  !    Where  ? " 

"  Never  mind  where  ;  will  you  come  ? " 

"  No,"  said  the  little  blanket-man,  stoutly. 

In  an  instant  Fog  had  tripped  him  up,  seized  a 
sheet  and  blanket  from  the  bed,  bound  his  hands  and 
feet  with  one,  and  wrapped  him  in  the  other.  "  Now, 
then,"  he  said  shouldering  the  load,  "  open  the  door." 

"  But  the  Mormons,"  objected  Waring. 

"  0,  they  like  a  joke,  they  will  only  laugh  !  But  if, 
by  any  chance,  they  should  show  fight,  fire  at  once," 
replied  the  old  man,  leading  the  way.  Waring  fol 
lowed,  his  mind  anything  but  easy ;  it  seemed  to  him 


90  CASTLE  NOWHERE. 

like  running  the  gantlet.  He  held  his  pistols  ready, 
and  glanced  furtively  around  as  they  skirted  the  town 
and  turned  down  towards  the  beach.  "  If  any  noise 
is  made/'  Fog  had  remarked,  "I  shall  know  what 
to  do." 

Whereupon  the  captive  swallowed  down  his  wrath 
and  a  good  deal  of  woollen  fuzz,  and  kept  silence.  He 
was  no  coward,  this  little  Preacher.  He  held  his  own 
manfully  on  the  Beavers ;  but  no  one  had  ever  carried 
him  off  in  a  blanket  before.  So  he  silently  considered 
the  situation. 

When  near  the  boat  they  came  upon  more  patri 
archs.  "  Put  a  bold  face  on  it,"  murmured  old  Fog. 
"  Whom  do  you  suppose  we  have  here  ? "  he  began, 
as  they  approached.  "Nothing  less  than  your  little 
Preacher;  we  want  to  borrow  him  for  a  few  days." 

The  patriarchs  stared. 

"Don't  you  believe  it?  —  Speak  up,  Preacher;  are 
you  being  carried  off?" 

No  answer. 

"You  had  better  speak,"  said  Fog,  jocosely,  at  the 
same  time  giving  his  captive  a  warning  touch  with 
his  elbow. 

The  Preacher  had  revolved  the  situation  rapidly, 
and  perceived  that  in  any  contest  his  round  body 
would  inevitably  suffer  from  friend  and  foe  alike.  He 
was  not  even  sure  but  that  he  would  be  used  as  a 
missile,  a  sort  of  ponderous  pillow  swung  by  one  end. 


CASTLE  NOWHERE.  91 

So  he  replied  briskly,  "Yes,  I  ain  being  carried  as 
you  see,  dear  brethren;  I  don't  care  about  walking 
to-day." 

The  patriarchs  laughed,  and  followed  on  to  the  boat, 
laughing  still  more  when  Fog  gayly  tossed  in  his  load 
of  blanket,  and  they  could  hear  the  little  man  growl 
as  he  came  down.  "  I  say,  though,  when  are  you  going 
to  bring  him  back,  Believer  ? "  said  one. 

"  In  a  few  days,"  replied  Fog,  setting  sail. 

Away  they  flew ;  and,  when  out  of  harbor,  the  cap 
tive  was  released,  and  Waring  told  him  what  was 
required. 

"  Why  did  n't  you  say  so  before  ? "  said  the  little 
blanket-man ;  "  nothing  I  like  better  than  a  wedding, 
and  a  drop  of  punch  afterwards." 

His  task  over,  Fog  relapsed  into  silence ;  but  War 
ing,  curious,  asked  many  a  question  about  the  island 
and  its  inhabitants.  The  Preacher  responded  freely  in 
all  things,  save  when  the  talk  glided  too  near  himself. 
The  Mormons  were  not  so  bad,  he  thought ;  they  had 
their  faults,  of  course,  but  you  must  take  them  on  the 
right  side. 

"  Have  they  a  right  side  ? "  asked  Waring. 

"  At  least  they  have  n't  a  rasping,  mean,  cold,  starv 
ing,  bony,  freezing,  busy-bodying  side,"  was  the  reply, 
delivered  energetically  ;  whereat  Waring  concluded  the 
little  man  had  had  his  own  page  of  history  back  some 
where  among  the  decorous  New  England  hills. 


92  CASTLE  NOWHERE. 

Before  they  came  to  the  marsh  they  blindfolded 
their  guest,  and  did  not  remove  the  bandage  until  he 
was  safely  within  the  long  room  of  the  castle.  Silver 
met  them,  radiant  in  the  firelight. 

"Heaven  grant  you  its  blessing,  maiden,"  said  the 
Preacher,  becoming  Biblical  at  once.  He  meant  it, 
however,  for  he  sat  gazing  at  her  long  with  moistened 
eyes,  forgetful  even  of  the  good  cheer  on  the  table; 
a  gleam  from  his  far-back  youth  came  to  him,  a  snow 
drop  that  bloomed  and  died  in  bleak  New  Hampshire 
long,  long  before. 

The  wedding  was  in  the  early  morning.  Old  Fog 
had  hurried  it,  hurried  everything;  he  seemed  driven 
by  a  spirit  of  unrest,  and  wandered  from  place  to  place, 
from  room  to  room,  his  eyes  fixed  in  a  vacant  way 
upon  the  familiar  objects.  At  the  last  moment  he 
appeared  with  a  prayer-book,  its  lettering  old,  its 
cover  tarnished.  "Have  you  any  objection  to  using 
the  Episcopal  service  ? "  he  asked  in  a  low  tone.  "  I 
—  I  have  heard  the  Episcopal  service." 

"  None  in  the  world,"  replied  the  affable  little 
Preacher. 

But  he  too  grew  sober  and  even  earnest  as  Silver 
appeared,  clad  in  white,  her  dress  and  hair  wreathed 
with  the  trailing  arbutus,  the  first  flower  of  spring, 
plucked  from  under  the  vanishing  snows.  So  beauti 
ful  her  face,  so  heavenly  its  expression,  that  Waring, 
as  he  took  her  hand,  felt  his  eyes  grow  dim,  and  he 


CASTLE   NOWHERE.  93 

vowed  to  himself  to  cherish  her  with  tenderest  love 
forever. 

"We  are  gathered  together  here  in  the  sight  of 
God,"  began  the  Preacher  solemnly;  and  old  Fog, 
standing  behind,  shrank  into  the  shadow,  and  bowed 
his  head  upon  his  hands.  But  when  the  demand 
came,  "  Who  giveth  this  woman  to  be  married  to  this 
man?"  he  stepped  forward,  and  gave  away  his  child 
without  a  tear,  nay,  with  even  a  smile  on  his  brave 
old  face. 

"  To  love,  cherish,  and  to  obey,"  repeated  Silver  in 
her  clear  sweet  voice. 

And  then  Waring  placed  upon  her  finger  the  little 
ring  he  himself  had  carved  out  of  wood.  "It  shall 
never  be  changed,"  he  said,  "but  coated  over  with 
heavy  gold,-  just  as  it  is." 

Old  Orange,  radiant  with  happiness,  stood  near,  and 
served  as  a  foil  for  the  bridal  white. 

It  was  over ;  but  they  were  not  to  start  until  noon. 

Fog  put  the  Preacher  almost  forcibly  into  the  boat 
and  sailed  away  with  him,  blindfolded  and  lamenting. 

"  The  wedding  feast,"  he  cried,  "  and  the  punch ! 
You  are  a  fine  host,  old  gentleman." 

"Everything  is  here,  packed  in  those  baskets.  I 
have  even  given  you  two  fine  dogs.  And  there  is 
your  fee.  I  shall  take  you  in  sight  of  the  Beavers, 
and  then  put  you  into  the  skiff  and  leave  you  to  row 
over  alone.  The  weather  is  fine,  you  can  reach  there 
to-morrow." 


94  CASTLE  NOWHERE. 

Kemonstrance  died  away  before  the  bag  of  money ; 
old  Fog  had  given  his  all  for  his  darling's  marriage- 
fee.  "  I  shall  have  no  further  use  for  it,"  he  thought, 
mechanically. 

So  the  little  blanket-man  paddled  away  in  his  skiff 
with  his  share  of  the  wedding-feast  beside  him;  the 
two  dogs  went  with  him,  and  became  good  Mormons. 

Old  Fog  returned  in  the  sail-boat  through  the  chan 
nels,  and  fastened  the  sedge-gate  open  for  the  out 
going  craft.  Silver,  timid  and  happy,  stood  on  the 
balcony  as  he  approached  the  castle. 

"  It  is  time  to  start,"  said  the  impatient  bride 
groom.  "  How  long  you  have  been,  Fog  ! " 

The  old  man  made  no  answer,  but  busied  himself 
arranging  the  boat ;  the  voyage  to  Mackinac  would 
last  two  or  three  days,  and  he  had  provided  every 
possible  comfort  for  their  little  camps  on  shore. 

"  Come,"  said  Waring,  from  below. 

Then  the  father  went  up  to  say  good  by.  Silver 
flung  her  arms  around  his  neck  and  burst  into  tears. 
"  Father,  father,"  she  sobbed,  "  must  I  leave  you  ?  0 
father,  father!" 

He  soothed  her  gently ;  but  something  in  the  ex 
pression  of  his  calm,  pallid  face  touched  the  deeper 
feelings  of  the  wakening  woman,  and  she  clung  to 
him  desperately,  realizing,  perhaps,  at  this  last  mo 
ment,  how  great  was  his  love  for  her,  how  great 
his  desolation.  Waring  had  joined  them  on  the  bal- 


CASTLE  NOWHERE.  95 

cony.  He  bore  with  her  awhile  and  tried  to  calm 
her  grief,  but  the  girl  turned  from  him  and  clung  to 
the  old  man ;  it  was  as  though  she  saw  at  last  how 
she  had  robbed  him.  "  I  cannot  leave  him  thus,"  she 
sobbed  ;  "  0  father,  father  !  " 

Then  Waring  struck  at  the  root  of  the  difficulty. 
(Forgive  him  ;  he  was  hurt  to  the  core.)  "  But  he 
is  not  your  father,"  he  said,  "  he  has  no  claim  upon 
you.  I  am  your  husband  now,  Silver,  and  you  must 
come  with  me;  do  you  not  wish  to  come  with  me, 
darling  ? "  he  added,,  his  voice  sinking  into  fondness. 

"  Not  my  father ! "  said  the  girl.  Her  arms  fell, 
and  she  stood  as  if  petrified. 

"No,  dear;  he  is  right.  I  am  not  your  father," 
said  old  Fog,  gently.  A  spasm  passed  over  his  fea 
tures,  he  kissed  her  hastily,  and  gave  her  into  her 
husband's  arms.  In  another  moment  they  were  afloat, 
in  two  the  sail  filled  and  the  boat  glided  away.  The 
old  man  stood  on  the  castle  roof,  smiling  and  wav 
ing  his  hand  ;  below,  Orange  fluttered  her  red  hand 
kerchief  from  the  balcony,  and  blessed  her  darling 
with  African  mummeries.  The  point  was  soon  round 
ed,  the  boat  gone. 

That  night,  when  the  soft  spring  moonlight  lay 
over  the  water,  a  sail  came  gliding  back  to  the  cas 
tle,  and  a  shape  flew  up  the  ladder ;  it  was  the  bride 
of  the  morning. 


96  CASTLE   NOWHERE. 

"  O  father,  father,  I  could  not  leave  you  so,  I 
made  him  bring  me  back,  if  only  for  a  few  days ! 
O  father,  father !  for  you  are  my  father,  the  only  fa 
ther  I  can  ever  know,  —  and  so  kind  and  good ! " 

In  the  gloom  she  knelt  by  his  bedside,  and  her 
arms  were  around  his  neck.  Waring  came  in  after 
wards,  silent  and  annoyed,  yet  not  unkind.  He 
stirred  the  dying  brands  into  a  flame. 

"What  is  this?"  he  said,  starting,  as  the  light  fell 
across  the  pillow. 

"  It  is  nothing,"  replied  Fog,  and  his  voice  sound 
ed  far  away ;  "  I  am  an  old  man,  children,  and  all 
is  well." 

They  watched  him  through  the  dawning,  through 
the  lovely  day,  through  the  sunset,  Waring  repent 
ant,  Silver  absorbed  in  his  every  breath ;  she  lav 
ished  upon  him  now  all  the  wealth  of  love  her 
unconscious  years  had  gathered.  Orange  seemed  to 
agree  with  her  master  that  all  was  well.  She  came 
and  went,  but  not  sadly,  and  crooned  to  herself  some 
strange  African  tune  that  rose  and  fell  more  like  a 
chant  of  triumph  than  a  dirge.  She  was  doing  her 
part,  according  to  her  light,  to  ease  the  going  of  the 
soul  out  of  this  world. 

Grayer  grew  the  worn  face,  fainter  the  voice, 
colder  the  shrivelled  old  hands  in  the  girl's  fond 
clasp. 

"  0  Jarvis,  Jarvis,  what  is  this  ? "  she  murmured, 
fearfully. 


CASTLE  NOWHERE.  97 

Waring  came  to  her  side  and  put  his  strong  arm 
around  her.  "  My  little  wife,"  he  said,  "  this  is  Death. 
But  do  not  fear." 

And  then  he  told  her  the  story  of  the  Cross;  and, 
as  it  came  to  her  a  revelation,  so,  in  the  telling,  it 
became  to  him,  for  the  first  time,  a  belief. 

Old  Fog  told  them  to  bury  him  out  in  deep  water, 
as  he  had  buried  the  others ;  and  then  he  lay  placid, 
a  great  happiness  shining  in  his  eyes. 

"  It  is  well,"  he  said,  "  and  God  is  very  good  to 
me.  Life  would  have  been  hard  without  you,  dar 
ling.  Something  seemed  to  give  way  when  you  said 
good  by ;  but  now  that  I  am  called,  it  is  sweet  to 
know  that  you  are  happy,  and  sweeter  still  to  think 
that  you  came  back  to  me  at  the  last.  Be  kind  to 
her,  Waring.  I  know  you  love  her;  but  guard  her 
tenderly,  —  she  is  but  frail.  I  die  content,  my  child, 
quite  content ;  do  not  grieve  for  me." 

Then,  as  the  light  faded  from  his  eyes,  he  folded 
his  hands.  "  Is  it  expiated,  0  God  ?  Is  it  expiated  ? " 
he  murmured. 

There  was  no  answer  for  him  on  earth. 

They  buried  him  as  he  had  directed,  and  then  they 
sailed  away,  taking  the  old  black  with  them.  The 
castle  was  left  alone ;  the  flowers  bloomed  on  through 
the  summer,  and  the  rooms  held  the  old  furniture 
bravely  through  the  long  winter.  But  gradually  the 


98  CASTLE  NOWHERE. 

walls  fell  in,  and  the  water  entered.  The  fogs  still 
steal  across  the  lake,  and  wave  their  gray  draperies 
up  into  the  northern  curve ;  but  the  sedge  -  gate  is 
gone,  and  the  castle  is  indeed  Nowhere. 


PETER  THE   PARSON. 


IN"  November,  1850,  a  little  mining  settlement 
stood  forlornly  on  the  shore  of  Lake  Superior. 
A  log-dock  ran  out  into  the  dark  water ;  a  roughly 
built  furnace  threw  a  glare  against  the  dark  sky ; 
several  stamping-mills  kept  up  their  monotonous 
tramping  day  and  night ;  and  evil-minded  saloons 
beset  the  steps  'on  all  sides.  Back  into  the  pine 
forest  ran  the  white-sand  road  leading  to  the  mine, 
and  on  the  right  were  clustered  the  houses,  which 
were  scarcely  better  than  shanties,  although  adarned 
with  sidling  porches  and  sham -windowed  fronts. 
Winter  begins  early  in  these  high  latitudes.  Navi 
gation  was  still  open,  for  a  scow  with  patched  sails 
was  coming  slowly  up  the  bay ;  but  the  air  was  cold, 
and  the  light  snow  of  the  preceding  night  clung  un- 
melted  on  the  north  side  of  the  trees.  The  pine 
forest  had  been  burned  away  to  make  room  for  the 
village ;  blackened  stumps  rose  everywhere  in  the 
weedy  streets,  and,  on  the  outskirts  of  the  clearing, 
grew  into  tall  skeletons,  bleached  white  without,  but 


100  PETER  THE  PARSON. 

black  and  charred  within,  —  a  desolate  framing  for  a 
desolate  picture.  Everything  was  bare,  jagged,  and 
unfinished ;  each  poor  house  showed  hasty  make 
shifts, —  no  doors  latched,  no  windows  fitted.  Pigs 
were  the  principal  pedestrians.  At  four  o'clock  this 
cold  November  afternoon,  the  saloons,  with  their  pine 
fires  and  red  curtains,  were  by  far  the  most  cheer 
ful  spots  in  the  landscape,  and  their  ruddy  invita 
tions  to  perdition  were  not  counterbalanced  by  a 
single  opposing  gleam,  until  the  Rev.  Herman  Peters 
prepared  his  chapel  for  vespers. 

Herman  Warriner  Peters  was  a  slender  little  man, 
whose  blue  eyes,  fair  hair,  and  unbearded  face  misled 
the  observer  into  the  idea  of  extreme  youth.  There 
was  a  boyishness  in  his  air,  or,  rather,  lack  of  air, 
and  a  nervous  timidity  in  his  manner,  which  stamped 
him  as  a  person  of  no  importance,  —  one  of  those 
men  who,  not  of  sufficient  consequence  to  be  dis 
liked,  are  simply  ignored  by  a  well-bred  world,  which 
pardons  anything  rather  than  insignificance.  And  if 
ignored  by  a  well-bred  world,  what  by  an  ill-bred  ? 
Society  at  Algonquin  was  worse  than  ill-bred,  inasmuch 
as  it  had  never  been  bred  at  all.  Like  all  mining 
settlements,  it  esteemed  physical  strength  the  highest 
good,  and  next  to  that  an  undaunted  demeanor  and 
flowing  vocabulary,  designated  admiringly  as  "  pow 
erful  sassy."  Accordingly  it  made  unlimited  fun 
of  the  Rev.  Herman  Warriner  Peters,  and  derived 


PETER  THE  PARSON.  10l 

much  enjoyment  from  calling  hini  *'  Pete'r,''  'pretend*- 
ing  to  think  it  was  his  real  name,  and  solemnly  per 
sisting  in  the  mistake  in  spite  of  all  the  painstaking 
corrections  of  the  unsuspecting  little  man. 

The  Rev.  Herman  wrapped  himself  in  his  thin 
old  cloak  and  twisted  a  comforter  around  his  little 
throat,  as  the  clock  warned  him  of  the  hour.  He 
was  not  leaving  much  comfort  behind  him ;  the  room 
was  dreary  and  bare,  without  carpet,  fire,  or  easy- 
chair.  A  cot-bed,  which  sagged  hopelessly,  a  wash 
bowl  set  on  a  dry-goods  box,  flanked  by  a  piece  of 
bar- soap  and  a  crash  towel,  a  few  pegs  on  the  cracked 
wall,  one  wooden  chair  and  his  own  little  trunk, 
completed  the  furniture.  The  Rev.  Herman  boarded 
with  Mrs.  Malone,  and  ate  her  streaked  biscuit  and 
fried  meat  without  complaint.  The  woman  could  rise 
to  yeast  and  a  gridiron  when  the  surveyors  visited 
Algonquin,  or  when  the  directors  of  the  iron  com 
pany  came  up  in  the  summer;  but  the  streaked  bis 
cuit  and  fried  steak  were  "  good  enough  for  the  little 
parson,  bless  him  !  " 

There  were  some  things  in  the  room,  however, 
other  than  furniture,  namely,  a  shelf  full  of  religious 
books,  a  large  and  appalling  picture  of  the  crucifix 
ion,  and  a  cross  six  feet  in  height,  roughly  made  of 
pine  saplings,  and  fixed  to  the  floor  in  a  wooden 
block.  There  was  also  a  small  colored  picture,  with 
the  words  "  Santa  Margarita  "  inscribed  beneath.  The 


102  PETEK  THE  PARSON. 

-picture  stood v  on  a  bracket  fashioned  of  shingles,  and 
below  it  hung  a  poor  little  vase  filled  with  the  last 
colored  leaves. 

"  Ye  only  want  the  Howly  Vargin  now,  to  be  all 
right,  yer  riverence,"  said  Mrs.  Malone,  who  was,  in 
name  at  least,  a  Roman  Catholic. 

"All  honor  and  affection  are,  no  doubt,  due  to  the 
Holy  Mary,"  answered  the  Kev.  Herman,  nervous 
ly  ;  "  but  the  Anglican  Church  does  not  —  at  pres 
ent —  allow  her  claim  to  —  to  adoration."  And  he 
sighed. 

"Why  don't  yer  jest  come  right  out  now,  and  be 
a  rale  Catholic  ? "  said  Mrs.  Malone,  with  a  touch  of 
sympathy.  "  You  're  next  door  to  it,  and  it 's  aisy 
to  see  yer  ain't  happy  in  yer  mind.  If  yer  was  a 
rale  praste,  now,  with  the  coat  and  all,  'stead  of  be 
ing  a  make-believe,  the  boys  ud  respect  yer  more, 
and  would  n't  notice  yer  soize  so  much.  Or  yer 
might  go  back  to  the  cities  (for  I  don't  deny  they 
do  loike  a  big  fist  up  here),  and  loikely  enough  yer 
could  find  aisy  work  there  that  ud  suit  yer." 

"I  like  hard  work,  Mrs.  Malone,"  said  the  little 
parson. 

"  But  you  're  not  fit  for  it,  sir.  You  '11  niver  get 
on  here  if  yer  stay  till  judgment  day.  Why,  yer  ain't 
got  ten  people,  all  told,  belongin'  to  yer  chapel,  and 
you  're  here  a  year  already  !  " 

The  Rev.  Herman  sighed   again,  but  made  no   an- 


PETER  THE  PARSON.  103 

swer.  He  sighed  now  as  he  left  his  cold  room  and 
stepped  out  into  the  cold  street.  The  wind  blew  as 
he  made  his  way  along  between  the  stumps,  carefully 
going  round  the  pigs,  who  had  selected  the  best  places 
for  their  siestas.  He  held  down  his  comforter  with 
one  bare  hand ;  the  other  clutched  the  end  of  a  row 
of  books,  which  filled  his  thin  arm  from  the  shoulder 
down.  He  limped  as  he  walked.  An  ankle  had  been 
cruelly  injured  some  months  previously ;  the  wound 
had  healed,  but  he  was  left  permanently  and  awkward 
ly  lame.  At  the  time,  the  dastardly  injury  had  roused 
a  deep  bitterness  in  the  parson's  heart,  for  grace  and 
activity  had  been  his  one  poor  little  bodily  gift,  his 
one  small  pride.  The  activity  had  returned,  not  the 
grace.  But  he  had  learned  to  limp  bravely  along,  and 
the  bitterness  had  passed  away. 

Lights  shone  comfortably  from  the  Pine-Cone  Saloon 
as  he  passed. 

"  Hallo !  Here 's  Peter  the  Parson,"  sang  out  a 
miner,  standing  at  the  door;  and  forth  streamed  all 
the  loungers  to  look  at  him. 

"  Say,  Peter,  come  in  and  have  a  drop  to  warm  yer," 
said  one. 

"Look  at  his  poor  little  ribs,  will  yer?"  said  an 
other,  as  his  cloak  blew  out  like  a  sail. 

"  Let  him  alone !  He  's  going  to  have  his  preach 
ing  all  to  himself,  as  usual,"  said  a  third.  "Them 
books  is  all  the  congregation  he  can  get,  poor  little 
chap!" 


104  PETER  THE  PARSON. 

The  parson's  sensitive  ears  heard  every  word.  He 
quickened  his  steps,  and,  with  his  usual  nervous  awk 
wardness,  stumbled  and  fell,  dropping  all  the  books, 
amid  the  jeering  applause  of  the  bystanders.  Silently 
he  rose  and  began  collecting  his  load,  the  wind  every 
now  and  then  blowing  his  cloak  over  his  head  as  he 
stooped,  and  his  difficulties  increased  by  the  occasional 
gift  of  a  potato  full  in  the  breast,  and  a  flood  of 
witty  commentaries  from  the  laughing  group  at  the 
saloon  door.  As  he  picked  up  the  last  volume  and 
turned  away,  a  missile,  deftly  aimed,  took  off  his 
hat,  and  sent  it  over  a  fence  into  a  neighboring  field. 
The  parson  hesitated ;  but  as  a  small  boy  had  already 
given  chase,  not  to  bring  it  back,  but  to  send  it  fur 
ther  away,  he  abandoned  the  hat,  —  his  only  one, — 
and  walked  on  among  the  stumps  bareheaded,  his 
thin  hair  blown  about  by  the  raw  wind,  and  his  blue 
eyes  reddened  with  cold  and  grief. 

The  Episcopal  Church  of  St.  John  and  St.  James 
was  a  rough  little  building,  with  recess-chancel,  ill- 
set  Gothic  windows,  and  a  half-finished  tower.  It 
owed  its  existence  to  the  zeal  of  a  director's  wife, 
who  herself  embroidered  its  altar-cloth  and  book 
marks,  and  sent  thither  the  artificial  flowers  and 
candles  which  she  dared  not  suggest  at  home ;  the 
poor  Indians,  at  least,  should  not  be  deprived  of 
them !  The  director's  wife  died,  but  left  by  will  a 
pittance  of  two  hundred  dollars  per  annum  towards 


PETER  THE  PARSON.  105 

the  rector's  salary.  In  her  fancy  she  saw  Algonquin 
a  thriving  town,  whose  inhabitants  believed  in  the 
Anglican  succession,  and  sent  their  children  to  Sun 
day  school.  In  reality,  Algonquin  remained  a  lawless 
mining  settlement,  whose  inhabitants  believed  in 
nothing,  and  whose  children  hardly  knew  what  Sun 
day  meant,  unless  it  was  more  whiskey  than  usual. 
The  two  hundred  dollars  and  the  chapel,  however, 
remained  fixed  facts ;  and  the  Eastern  directors,  there 
fore,  ordered  a  picturesque  church  to  be  delineated  on 
their  circulars,  and  themselves  constituted  a  non 
resident  vestry.  One  or  two  young  missionaries  had 
already  tried  the  field,  failed,  and  gone  away ;  but  the 
present  incumbent,  who  had  equally  tried  and  equally 
failed,  remained. 

On  this  occasion  he  unlocked  the  door  and  entered 
the  little  sanctuary.  It  was  cold  and  dark,  but  he 
made  no  fire,  for  there  was  neither  stove  nor  hearth. 
Lighting  two  candles,  —  one  for  the  congregation  and 
one  for  himself,  —  he  distributed  the  books  among 
the  benches  and  the  chancel,  and  dusted  carefully 
the  little  altar,  with  its  faded  embroideries  and  flow 
ers.  Then  he  retired  into  the  shed  which  served  as 
a  vestry-room,  and  in  a  few  minutes  issued  forth, 
clad  in  his  robes  of  office,  and  knelt  at  the  chancel 
rail.  There  was  no  bell  to  summon  the  congregation, 
and  no  congregation  to  summon;  but  still  he  began 
in  his  clear  voice,  "Dearly  beloved  brethren,"  and 


106  PETER  THE  PARSON. 

continued  on  unwavering  through  the  Confession,  the 
Absolution,  and  the  Psalms,  leaving  a  silence  for  the 
corresponding  responses,  and  devoutly  beginning  the 
first  lesson.  In  the  midst  of  "Zephaniah"  there  was 
a  slight  noise  at  the  door  and  a  step  sounded  over 
the  rough  floor.  The  solitary  reader  did  not  raise 
his  eyes;  and,  the  lesson  over,  he  bravely  lifted  up 
his  mild  tenor  in  the  chant,  "It  is  a  good  thing  to 
give  thanks  unto  the  Lord,  and  to  sing  praises  unto 
thy  name,  O  Most  Highest."  A  girl's  voice  took  up 
the  air;  the  mild  tenor  dropped  into  its  own  part, 
and  the  two  continued  the  service  in  a  duet,  spoken 
and  sung,  to  its  close.  Then  the  minister  retired, 
with  his  candle,  to  the  shed,  and,  hanging  up  his 
surplice,  patiently  waited,  pacing  to  and  fro  in  the 
cold.  Patiently  waited;  and  for  what?  For  the 
going  away  of  the  only  friend  he  had  in  Algonquin. 
The  congregation  lingered ;  its  shawl  must  be  re- 
fastened  ;  indeed,  it  must  be  entirely  refolded.  Its 
hat  must  be  retied,  and  the  ribbons  carefully  smoothed. 
Still  there  was  no  sound  from  the  vestry-room.  It 
collected  all  the  prayer-books,  and  piled  them  near 
the  candle,  making  a  separate  journey  for  each  little 
volume.  Still  no  one.  At  last,  with  lingering  step 
and  backward  glance,  slowly  it  departed  and  carried 
its  disappointed  face  homeward.  Then  Peter  the  Par 
son  issued  forth,  lifted  the  careful  pile  of  books  with 
tender  hand,  and,  extinguishing  the  lights,  went  out 


PETER  THE  PARSON.  107 

bareheaded  into  the   darkness.      The   vesper    service 
of  St.  John  and  St.  James  was  over. 

After  a  hot,  unwholesome  supper  the  minister  re 
turned  to  his  room  and  tried  to  read;  but  the  candle 
nickered,  the  cold  seemed  to  blur  the  book,  and  he 
found  himself  gazing  at  the  words  without  taking  in 
their  sense.  Then  he  began  to  read  aloud,  slowly 
walking  up  and  down,  and  carrying  the  candle  to 
light  the  page;  but  through  all  the  learned  sentences 
there  still  crept  to  the  surface  the  miserable  con 
sciousness  of  bodily  cold.  "And  mental,  too,  Heaven 
help  me  I "  he  thought.  "  But  I  cannot  afford  a  fire 
at  this  season,  and,  indeed,  it  ought  not  to  be  neces 
sary.  This  delicacy  must  be  subdued;  I  will  go  out 
and  walk."  Putting  on  his  cloak  and  comforter,  (0, 
deceitful  name !)  he  remembered  that  he  had  no  hat. 
Would  his  slender  store  of  money  allow  a  new  one? 
Unlocking  his  trunk,  he  drew  out  a  thin  purse  hidden 
away  among  his  few  carefully  folded  clothes,  — the 
poor  trunk  was  but  half  full,  —  and  counted  its  con 
tents.  The  sum  was  pitifully  small,  and  it  must  yet 
last  many  weeks.  But  a  hat  was  necessary,  whereas 
a  fire  was  a  mere  luxury.  "  I  must  harden  myself/' 
thought  the  little  parson,  sternly,  as  he  caught  him 
self  shuddering  with  the  cold;  "this  evil  tendency 
to  self-indulgence  must  and  shall  be  crushed." 

He  went  down  towards  the  dock  where  stood  the 
one  store  of  Algonquin,  —  stealing  along  in  the  dark- 


108  PETER  THE  PARSON. 

ness  to  hide  his  uncovered  condition.  Buying  a  hat, 
the  poorest  one  there,  from  the  Jew  proprietor,  he 
lingered  a  moment  near  the  stove  to  warm  his  chilled 
hands.  Mr.  Marx,  rendered  good-natured  by  the  bold 
cheat  he  had  perpetrated,  affably  began  a  conversa 
tion. 

"  Sorry  to  see  yer  still  limp  bad.  But  it  ain't  so 
hard  as  it  would  be  if  yer  was  a  larger  man.  Yer  see 
there  ain't  much  of  yer  to  limp ;  that 's  one  comfort. 
Hope  business  is  good  at  yer  chapel,  and  that  Mrs. 
Malone  gives  yer  enough  to  eat ;  yer  don't  look  like  it, 
though.  The  winter  has  sot  in  early,  and  times  is 
hard."  And  did  the  parson  know  that  "  Brother  Saul 
has  come  in  from  the  mine,  and  is  a  holding  forth  in 
the  school-house  this  very  minit  ? " 

No ;  the  parson  did  not  know  it.  But  he  put  on 
his  new  hat,  whose  moth-holes  had  been  skilfully 
blackened  over  with  ink,  and  turned  towards  the  door. 

"  It 's  nothing  to  me,  of  course,"  continued  Mr. 
Marx,  with  a  liberal  wave  of  his  dirty  hand ;  "  all 
your  religions  are  alike  to  me,  T  'm  free  to  say.  But 
I  wonder  yer  and  Saul  don't  work  together,  parson. 
Yer  might  do  a  heap  of  good  if  yer  was  to  pull  at 
the  same  oar,  now." 

The  words  echoed  in  the  parson's  ears  as  he  walked 
down  to  the  beach,  the  only  promenade  in  Algonquin 
free  from  stumps.  Could  he  do  a  "heap  of  good,"  by 
working  with  that  ignorant,  coarse,  roaring  brother, 


PETER  THE   PAESON.  109 

whose  blatant  pride,  dirty  shirt,  and  irreverent  famil 
iarity  with  all  things  sacred  were  alike  distasteful, 
nay,  horrible  to  his  sensitive  mind  ?  Pondering,  he 
paced  the  narrow  strip  of  sand  under  the  low  bluff; 
but  all  his  efforts  did  not  suffice  to  quicken  or  warm  his 
chilled  blood.  Nevertheless,  he  expanded  his  sunken 
chest  and  drew  in  long  breaths  of  the  cold  night  air, 
and  beat  his  little  hands  vigorously  together,  and  ran 
to  and  fro.  "  Aha  ! "  he  said  to  himself,  "  this  is 
glorious  exercise."  And  then  he  went  home,  colder 
than  ever ;  it  was  his  way  thus  to  make  a  reality  of 
what  ought  to  be. 

Passing  through  one  of  the  so-called  streets,  he  saw 
a  ruddy  glow  in  front  of  the  school-house ;  it  was  a 
pine-knot  fire  whose  flaring  summons  had  not  been 
unheeded.  The  parson  stopped  a  moment  and  warmed 
himself,  glancing  meanwhile  furtively  within,  where 
Brother  Saul  was  holding  forth  in  clarion  tones  to  a 
crowded  congregation ;  his  words  reached  the  listener's 
ear,  and  verified  the  old  proverb.  "  There 's  brimstone 
and  a  fiery  furnace  for  them  as  doubts  the  truth,  I  tell 
you.  Prayin'  out  of  a  book  —  and  flowers  —  and  can 
dles —  and  night-gownds  'stead  of  decent  coats  —  for 
it 's  night-gownds  they  look  like,  though  they  may  call 
them  surpluses  "  (applause  from  the  miners)  —  "  won't 
do  no  good.  Sech  nonsense  will  never  save  souls. 
You  Ve  jest  got  to  fall  down  on  your  knees  and  pray 
hard  —  hard  —  with  groaning  and  roaring  of  the  spirit 


110  PETER  THE  PARSON. 

—  until  you  're  as  weak  as  a  rag.  Nothing  else  will 
do  ;  nothing,  —  nothing." 

The  parson  hurried  away,  shrinking  (though  unseen) 
from  the  rough  finger  pointed  at  him.  Before  he  was 
out  of  hearing  a  hymn  sounded  forth  on  the  night 
breeze,  —  one  of  those  nondescript  songs  that  belong- 
to  the  border,  a  favorite  with  the  Algonquin  miners, 
because  of  a  swinging  chorus  wherein  they  roared  out 
their  wish  to  "  die  a-shouting,"  in  company  with  all 
the  kings  and  prophets  of  Israel,  each  one  fraternally 
mentioned  by  name. 

Reaching  his  room,  the  parson  hung  up  his  cloak 
and  hat,  and  sat  down  quietly  with  folded  hands. 
Clad  in  dressing-gown  and  slippers,  in  an  easy-chair, 
before  a  bright  fire,  —  a  r every,  thus,  is  the  natural 
ending  for  a  young  man's  day.  But  here  the  chair  was 
hard  and  straight -backed,  there  was  no  fire,  and  the 
candle  burned  with  a  feeble  blue  flame ;  the  small  fig 
ure  in  its  limp  black  clothes,  with  its  little  gaitered 
feet  pressed  close  together  on  the  cold  floor  as  if  for 
warmth,  its  clasped  hands,  its  pale  face  and  blue  eyes 
fixed  on  the  blank  expanse  of  the  plastered  wall,  was 
pathetic  in  its  patient  discomfort  After  a  while  a  tear 
fell  on  the  clasped  hands  and  startled  their  coldness 
with  its  warmth.  The  parson  brushed  the  token  of 
weakness  hastily  away,  and  rising,  threw  himself  at 
the  foot  of  the  large  wooden  cross  with  his  arms  clasp 
ing  its  base.  In  silence  for  many  moments  he  lay  thus 


PETER  THE   PARSON.  Ill 

prostrate;  then,  extinguishing  the  candle,  he  sought 
his  poor  couch.  But  later  in  the  night,  when  all  Al 
gonquin  slept,  a  crash  of  something  falling  was  heard 
in  the  dark  room,  followed  by  the  sound  of  a  scourge 
mercilessly  used,  and  murmured  Latin  prayers,  —  the 
old  cries  of  penitence  that  rose  during  night- vigils  from 
the  monasteries  of  the  Middle  Ages.  And  why  not 
English  words  ?  Was  there  not  something  of  affecta 
tion  in  the  use  of  these  mediaeval  phrases  ?  Maybe 
so ;  but  at  least  there  was  nothing  affected  in  the 
stripes  made  by  the  scourge.  The  next  morning  all 
was  as  usual  in  the  little  room,  save  that  the  picture 
of  Santa  Margarita  was  torn  in  twain,  and  the  bracket 
and  vase  shattered  to  fragments  on  the  floor  below. 

At  dawn  the  parson  rose,  and,  after  a  conscientious 
bath  in  the  tub  of  icy  water  brought  in  by  his  own 
hands  the  previous  evening,  he  started  out  with  his 
load  of  prayer-books,  his  face  looking  haggard  and 
blue  in  the  cold  morning  light.  Again  he  entered 
the  chapel,  and  having  arranged  the  books  and  dusted 
the  altar,  he  attired  himself  in  his  robes  and  began 
the  service  at  half  past  six  precisely.  "  From  the 
rising  of  the  sun  even  unto  the  going  down  of  the 
same,"  he  read,  and  in  truth  the  sun  was  just  rising. 
As  the  evening  prayer  was  "  vespers,"  so  this  was 
"  matins,"  in  the  parson's  mind.  He  had  his  "  vest 
ments  "  too,  of  various  ritualistic  styles,  and  washed 
them  himself,  ironing  them  out  afterwards  with  fear 


112  PETER  THE  PARSON. 

and  difficulty  in  Mrs.  Malone's  disorderly  kitchen, 
poor  little  man !  No  hand  turned  the  latch,  no  step 
came  across  the  floor  this  morning ;  the  parson  had 
the  service  all  to  himself,  and,  as  it  was  Friday,  he 
went  through  the  Litany,  omitting  nothing,  and  clos 
ing  with  a  hymn.  Then,  gathering  up  his  books,  he 
went  home  to  breakfast. 

"  How  peaked  yer  do  look,  sir ! "  exclaimed  ruddy 
Mrs.  Malone,  as  she  handed  him  a  cup  of  muddy 
coffee.  "  What,  no  steak  ?  Do,  now  ;  for  I  ain't  got 
nothin'  else.  Well,  if  yer  won't  —  But  there 's 
nothin'  but  the  biscuit,  then.  Why,  even  Father 
O'Brien  himself  'lows  meat  for  the  sickly,  Friday  or 
no  Friday." 

"  I  am  not  sickly,  Mrs.  Malone,"  replied  the  little 
parson,  with  dignity. 

A  young  man  with  the  figure  of  an  athlete  sat  at 
the  lower  end  of  the  table,  tearing  the  tough  steak 
voraciously  with  his  strong  teeth,  chewing  audibly, 
and  drinking  with  a  gulping  noise.  He  paused  as 
the  parson  spoke,  and  regarded  him  with  wonder  not 
unmixed  with  contempt. 

"  You  ain't  sickly  ? "  he  repeated.  "  Well,  if  you 
ain't,  then  I'd  like  to  know  who  is,  that's  all." 

"  Now,  you  jest  eat  your  breakfast,  Steve,  and  let 
the  parson  alone,"  interposed  Mrs.  Malone.  "  Sorry 
to  see  that  little  picture  all  tore,  sir,"  she  continued, 
turning  the  conversation  in  her  blundering  good-na- 


PETER  THE  PARSON.  113 

ture.  "It  was  a  moighty  pretty  picture,  and  looked 
uncommonly  like  Rosie  Ray." 

"It  was  a  copy  of  an  Italian  painting,  Mrs.  Ma- 
lone,"  the  parson  hastened  to  reply ;  "  Santa  Marga 
rita." 

"  0,  I  dare  say ;  but  it  looked  iver  so  much  like 
Rosie,  for  all  that ! " 

A  deep  flush  had  crossed  the  parson's  pale  face. 
The  athlete  saw  it,  and  muttered  to  himself  angrily, 
casting  surly  sidelong  glances  up  the  table,  and  breath 
ing  hard ;  the  previous  evening  he  had  happened  to 
pass  the  Chapel  of  St.  John  and  St.  James  as  its 
congregation  of  one  was  going  in  the  door. 

After  two  hours  spent  in  study,  the  parson  went 
out  to  visit  the  poor  and  sick  of  the  parish ;  all  were 
poor,  and  one  was  sick,  —  the  child  of  an  English 
woman,  a  miner's  wife.  The  mother,  with  a  memory 
of  her  English  training,  dusted  a  chair  for  the  min 
ister,  and  dropped  a  courtesy,  as  he  seated  himself 
by  the  little  bed ;  but  she  seemed  embarrassed,  and 
talked  volubly  of  anything  and  everything  save  the 
child.  The  parson  listened  to  the  unbroken  stream 
of  words  while  he  stroked  the  boy's  soft  cheek  and 
held  the  wasted  little  hand  in  his.  At  length  he 
took  a  small  bottle  from  his  pocket,  and  looked 
around  for  a  spoon ;  it  was  a  pure  and  delicate  cor 
dial  which  he  had  often  given  to  the  sick  child  to 
sustain  its  waning  strength. 


114  PETER  THE  PARSON. 

"  O,  if  you  please,  sir,  —  indeed,  I  don't  feel  sure 
that  it  does  Harry  any  good.  Thank  you  for  offer 
ing  it  so  free  —  but  —  but,  if  you  'd  just  as  lieve  — 
I  —  I  'd  rather  not,  sir,  if  you  please,  sir." 

The  parson  looked  up  in  astonishment;  the  costly 
cordial  had  robbed  him  of  many  a  fire. 

"  Why  don't  you  tell  the  minister  the  truth  ? "  called 
out  a  voice  from  the  inner  room,  the  harsh  voice  of 
the  husband.  "  Why  don't  you  say  right  out  that 
Brother  Saul  was  here  last  night,  and  prayed  over 
the  child,  and  give  it  some  of  his  own  medicine,  and 
telled  you  not  to  touch  the  parson's  stuff?  He  said 
it  was  pizen,  he  did." 

The  parson  rose,  cut  to  the  heart.  He  had  shared 
his  few  dimes  with  this  woman,  and  had  hoped  much 
from  her  on  account  of  her  early  church-training.  On 
Sunday  she  had  been  one  of  the  few  who  came  to  the 
chapel,  and  when,  during  the  summer,  she  was  smitten 
with  fever,  he  had  read  over  lier  the  prayers  from  "  The 
Visitation  of  the  Sick " ;  he  had  baptized  this  child 
now  fading  away,  and  had  loved  the  little  fellow  ten 
derly,  taking  pleasure  in  fashioning  toys  for  his  baby 
hands,  and  saving  for  him  the  few  cakes  of  Mrs. 
Malone's  table. 

"I  didn't  mean  to  have  Saul,  —  I  didn't  indeed, 
sir,"  said  the  mother,  putting  her  apron  to  her  eyes. 
"  But  Harry  he  was  so  bad  last  night,  and  the  neigh 
bors  sort  o'  persuaded  me  into  it.  Brother  Saul  does 


PETER  THE  PAESOK  115 

pray  so  powerful  strong,  sir,  that  it  seems  as  though  it 
must  do  some  good  some  way ;  and  he 's  a  very  com 
fortable  talker  too,  there's  no  denying  that.  Still,  I 
did  n't  mean  it,  sir ;  and  I  hope  you  '11  forgive  me." 

"  There  is  nothing  to  forgive,"  replied  the  parson, 
gently ;  and,  leaving  his  accustomed  coin  on  the  table, 
he  went  away. 

Wandering  at  random  through  the  pine  forest,  una 
ble  to  overcome  the  dull  depression  at  his  heart,  he 
came  suddenly  upon  a  large  bull-dog  ;  the  creature,  one 
of  the  ugliest  of  its  kind,  eyed  him  quietly,  with  a  slow 
wrinkling  of  the  sullen  upper  lip. 

The  parson  visibly  trembled. 

"  Traid,  are  ye  ? "  called  out  a  voice,  and  the  athlete 
of  the  breakfast-table  showed  himself. 

"  Call  off  your  dog,  please,  Mr.  Long." 

"  He  ain't  doin'  nothin',  parson.  But  you  're  at  lib 
erty  to  kick  him,  if  you  like,"  said  the  man,  laughing 
as  the  dog  snuffed  stealthily  around  the  parson's  gai 
ters.  The  parson  shifted  his  position;  the  dog  fol 
lowed.  He  stepped  aside ;  so  did  the  dog.  He  turned 
and  walked  away  with  a  determined  effort  at  self-con 
trol  ;  the  dog  went  closely  behind,  brushing  his  ankles 
with  his  ugly  muzzle.  He  hurried ;  so  did  the  dog. 
At  last,  overcome  with  the  nervous  physical  timidity 
which  belonged  to  his  constitution,  he  broke  into  a 
run,  and  fled  as  if  for  life,  hearing  the  dog  close  behind 
and  gaining  with  every  step.  The  jeering  laugh  of  the 


116  PETER  THE  PARSON. 

athlete  followed  him  through  the  pine-tree  aisles,  but 
he  heeded  it  not,  and  when  at  last  he  spied  a  log-house 
on  one  side  he  took  refuge  within  like  a  hunted  hare, 
breathless  and  trembling.  An  old  woman  smoking  a 
pipe  was  its  only  occupant.  "What's  the  matter?" 
she  said.  "  O,  the  dog?"  And,  taking  a  stick  of 
wood,  she  drove  the  animal  from  the  door,  and  sent 
him  fleeing  back  to  his  master.  The  parson  sat  down 
by  the  hearth  to  recover  his  composure. 

"  Why,  you  're  most  frightened  to  death,  ain't  yer  ? " 
said  the  old  woman,  as  she  brushed  against  him  to 
make  up  the  fire.  "  You  're  all  of  a  tremble.  I  would 
n't  stray  so  far  from  home  if  I  was  you,  child." 

Her  vision  was  imperfect,  and  she  took  the  small, 
cowering  figure  for  a  boy. 

The  minister  went  home. 

After  dinner,  which  he  did  not  eat,  as  the  greasy 
dishes  offended  his  palate,  he  shut  himself  up  in  his 
room  to  prepare  his  sermon  for  the  coming  Sunday. 
It  made  no  difference  whether  there  would  be  any 
one  to  hear  it  or  not,  the  sermon  was  always  care 
fully  written  and  carefully  delivered,  albeit  short, 
according  to  the  ritualistic  usage,  which  esteems  the 
service  all,  the  sermon  nothing.  His  theme  on  this 
occasion  was  "The  General  Councils  of  the  Church  "  ; 
and  the  sermon,  an  admirable  production  of  its  kind, 
would  have  been  esteemed,  no  doubt,  in  English  Ox 
ford  or  in  the  General  Theological  Seminary  of  New 


PETER  THE  PARSON.  117 

York  City.  He  wrote  earnestly  and  ardently,  deriv 
ing  a  keen  enjoyment  from  the  work;  the  mechani 
cal  part  also  was  exquisitely  finished,  the  clear  sen 
tences  standing  out  like  the  work  of  a  sculptor. 
Then  came  vespers;  and  the  congregation  this  time 
was  composed  of  two,  or,  rather,  three  persons,  —  the 
girl,  the  owner  of  the  dog,  and  the  dog  himself.  The 
man  entered  during  service  with  a  noisy  step,  man 
aging  to  throw  over  a  bench,  coughing,  humming, 
and  talking  to  his  dog ;  half  of  the  congregation 
was  evidently  determined  upon  mischief.  But  the 
other  half  rose  with  the  air  of  a  little  queen,  crossed 
the  intervening  space  with  an  open  prayer-book,  gave 
it  to  the  man,  and,  seating  herself  near  by,  fairly 
awed  him  into  good  behavior.  Rose  Ray  was  beau 
tiful;  and  the  lion  lay  at  her  feet.  As  for  the  dog, 
with  a  wave  of  her  hand  she  ordered  him  out,  and 
the  beast  humbly  withdrew.  It  was  noticeable  that  the 
parson's  voice  gained  strength  as  the  dog  disappeared. 

"  I  ain't  going  to  stand  by  and  see  it,  Rosie,"  said 
the  man,  as,  the  service  over,  he  followed  the  girl 
into  the  street.  "  That  puny  little  chap  ! " 

"He  cares  nothing  for  me,"  answered  the  girl, 
quickly. 

"  He  sha'  n't  have  a  chance  to  care,  if  I  know  my 
self.  You  're  free  to  say  '  no '  to  me,  Rosie,  but  you 
ain't  free  to  say  'yes'  to  him.  A  regular  coward! 
That 's  what  he  is.  Why,  he  ran  away  from  my  dog 


118  PETER  THE  PARSON. 

this  very  afternoon,  —  ran  like  he  was  scared  to 
death ! " 

"You  set  the  dog  on  him,  Steve." 

"Well,  what  if  I  did?  He  needn't  have  run; 
any  other  man  would  have  sent  the  beast  flying." 

"  Now,  Steve,  do  promise  me  that  you  won't  tease 
him  any  more,"  said  the  girl,  laying  her  hand  upon 
the  man's  arm  as  he  walked  by  her  side.  His  face 
softened. 

"  If  he  had  any  spirit  he  'd  be  ashamed  to  have 
a  girl  beggin'  for  him  not  to  be  teased.  But  never 
mind  that;  I'll  let  him  alone  fast  enough,  Rosie,  if 
you  will  too." 

"If  I  will,"  repeated  the  girl,  drawing  back,  as  he 
drew  closer  to  her  side ;  "  what  can  you  mean  ? " 

"  0,  come  now !  You  know  very  well  you  're  al 
ways  after  him,  —  a  goin'  to  his  chapel  where  no  one 
else  goes  hardly,  —  a  listenin'  to  his  preachin',  —  and 
a  havin'  your  picture  hung  up  in  his  room." 

It  was  a  random  shaft,  sent  carelessly,  more  to 
finish  the  sentence  with  a  strong  point  than  from 
any  real  belief  in  the  athlete's  mind. 

"What!" 

"Leastways  so  Mrs.  Malone  said.  I  took  break 
fast  there  this  morning." 

The  girl  was  thrown  off  her  guard,  her  whole  face 
flushed  with  joy ;  she  could  not  for  the  moment  hide 
her  agitation.  "  My  picture ! "  she  murmured,  and 


PETER  THE   PARSON.  119 

clasped  her  hands.  The  light  from  the  Pine-Cone 
crossed  her  face,  and  revealed  the  whole  secret.  Ste 
ven  Long  saw  it,  and  fell  into  a  rage.  After  all, 
then,  she  did  love  the  puny  parson! 

"Let  him  look  out  for  himself,  that's  all,"  he 
muttered  with  a  fierce  gesture,  as  he  turned  towards 
the  saloon  door.  (He  felt  a  sudden  thirst  for  ven 
geance,  and  for  whiskey.)  "  I  '11  be  even  with  him, 
and  I  won't  be  'long  about  it  neither.  You  '11  never 
have  the  little  parson  alive,  Eose  Ray !  He  '11  be 
found  missin'  some  fine  mornin',  and  nobody  will  be  to 
blame  but  you  either."  He  disappeared,  and  the  girl 
stood  watching  the  spot  where  his  dark,  angry  face 
had  been.  After  a  time  she  went  slowly  homeward, 
troubled  at  heart ;  there  was  neither  law  nor  order  at 
Algonquin,  and  not  without  good  cause  did  she  fear. 

The  next  morning,  as  the  parson  was  coming  from 
his  solitary  matin  service  through  thick-falling  snow, 
this  girl  met  him,  slipped  a  note  into  his  hand,  and 
disappeared  like  a  vision.  The  parson  went  home 
ward,  carrying  the  folded  paper  under  his  cloak 
pressed  close  to  his  heart.  "  I  am  only  keeping  it 
dry,"  he  murmured  to  himself.  This  was  the  note :  — 

"  RESPECTED  SIR,  —  I  must  see  you,  you  air  in 
danger.  Please  come  to  the  Grotter  this  afternoon 
at  three  and  I  remain  yours  respectful, 

"RosE  RAY." 


120  PETER  THE  PARSON. 

The  Eev.  Herman  Warriner  Peters  read  these  words 
over  and  over;  then  he  went  to  breakfast,  but  ate 
nothing,  and,  coming  back  to  his  room,  he  remained 
the  whole  morning  motionless  in  his  chair.  At 
first  the  red  named  in  his  cheek,  but  gradually  it 
faded,  and  gave  place  to  a  pinched  pallor;  he  bowed 
his  head  upon  his  hands,  communed  with  his  own 
heart,  and  was  still.  As  the  dinner-bell  rang  he 
knelt  down  on  the  cold  hearth,  made  a  little  fu 
neral  pyre  of  the  note  torn  into  fragments,  watched 
it  slowly  consume,  and  then,  carefully  collecting  the 
ashes,  he  laid  them  at  the  base  of  the  large  cross. 

At  two  o'clock  he  set  out  for  the  Grotto,  a  cave 
two  miles  from  the  village  along  the  shore,  used  by  the 
fishermen  as  a  camp  during  the  summer.  The  snow 
had  continued  falling,  and  now  lay  deep  on  the  even 
ground;  the  pines  were  loaded  with  it,  and  every 
thing  was  white  save  the  waters  of  the  bay,  heaving 
sullenly,  dark,  and  leaden,  as  though  they  knew  the 
icy  fetters  were  nearly  ready  for  them.  The  parson 
walked  rapidly  along  in  his  awkward,  halting  gait ; 
overshoes  he  had  none,  and  his  cloak  was  but  a 
sorry  substitute  for  the  blankets  and  skins  worn  by 
the  miners.  But  he  did  not  feel  cold  when  he 
opened  the  door  of  the  little  cabin  which  had  been 
built  out  in  front  of  the  cave,  and  found  himself 
face  to  face  with  the  beautiful  girl  who  had  sum 
moned  him  there.  She  had  lighted  a  fire  of  pine 


PETER  THE   PARSON.  121 

knots  on  the  hearth,  and  set  the  fishermen's  rough 
furniture  in  order;  she  had  cushioned  a  chair-back 
with  her  shawl,  and  heated  a  flat  stone  for  a  foot- 
warrner. 

"Take  this  seat,  sir,"  she  said,  leading  him  thither. 

The  parson  sank  into  the  chair  and  placed  his 
old  soaked  gaiters  on  the  warm  stone;  but  he  said 
not  one  word. 

"  I  thought  perhaps  you  'd  be  tired  after  your  long 
walk,  sir,"  continued  the  girl,  "and  so  I  took  the  lib 
erty  of  bringing  something  with  me."  As  she  spoke 
she  drew  into  view  a  basket,  and  took  from  it  delicate 
bread,  chicken,  cakes,  preserved  strawberries,  and  a 
little  tin  coffee-pot  which,  set  on  the  coals,  straight 
way  emitted  a  delicious  fragrance ;  nothing  was  for 
gotten,  —  cream,  sugar,  nor  even  snowy  napkins. 

The  parson  spoke  not  a  word. 

But  the  girl  talked  for  both,  as  with  flushed  cheeks 
and  starry  eyes  she  prepared  the  tempting  meal,  us 
ing  many  pretty  arts  and  graceful  motions,  using  in 
short  every  power  she  possessed  to  charm  the  silent 
guest.  The  table  was  spread,  the  viands  arranged, 
the  coffee  poured  into  the  cup ;  but  still  the  parson 
spoke  not,  and  his  blue  eyes  were  almost  stern  as 
he  glanced  at  the  tempting  array.  He  touched  noth 
ing. 

"I  thought  you  would  have  liked  it  all,"  said  the 
girl  at  last,  when  she  saw  her  little  offerings  de- 


122  PETER  THE  PAKSON. 

spised.  "I  brought  them  all  out  myself  —  and  I 
was  so  glad  thinking  you'd  like  them — and  now — " 
Her  voice  broke,  and  the  tears  flowed  from  her  pretty 
soft  eyes.  A  great  tenderness  came  over  the  parson's 
face. 

"  Do  not  weep,"  he  said,  quickly.  "  See,  I  am  eat 
ing.  See,  I  am  enjoying  everything.  It  is  all  good, 
nay,  delicious."  And  in  his  haste  he  partook  of  each 
dish,  and  lifted  the  coffee-cup  to  his  lips.  The  girl's 
face  grew  joyous  again,  and  the  parson  struggled  bravely 
against  his  own  enjoyment ;  in  truth,  what  with  the 
warm  fire,  the  easy-chair,  the  delicate  food,  the  fra 
grant  coffee,  and  the  eager,  beautiful  face  before  him,  a 
sense  of  happiness  came  over  him  in  long  surges,  and 
for  the  moment  his  soul  drifted  with  the  warm  tide. 

"  You  do  like  it,  don't  you  ? "  said  the  girl  with 
delight,  as  he  slowly  drank  the  fragrant  coffee,  his 
starved  lips  lingering  over  the  delicious  brown  drops. 
Something  in  her  voice  jarred  on  the  trained  nerves 
and  roused  them  to  action  again. 

"Yes,  I  do  like  it,  — only  too  well,"  he  answered; 
but  the  tone  of  his  voice  had  altered.  He  pushed 
back  his  chair,  rose,  and  began  pacing  to  and  fro  in 
the  shadow  beyond  the  glow  of  the  fire. 

"  Thou  glutton  body  ! "  he  murmured.  "  But  thou 
shalt  go  empty  for  this."  Then,  after  a  pause,  he 
said  in  a  quiet,  even  tone,  "You  had  something  to 
tell  me,  Miss  Kay." 


PETER  THE   PARSON.  123 

The  girl's  face  had  altered ;  but  rallying,  she  told 
her  story  earnestly,  —  of  Steven  Long,  his  fierce  tem 
per,  his  utter  lawlessness,  and  his  threats. 

"  And  why  should  Steven  Long  threaten  me  ? "  said 
the  parson.  "  But  you  need  not  answer,"  he  contin 
ued  in  an  agitated  voice.  "Say  to  Steven  Long, — 
say  to  him,"  he  repeated  in  louder  tones,  "that  I 
shall  never  marry.  I  have  consecrated  my  life  to 
my  holy  calling." 

There  was  a  long  silence ;  the  words  fell  with 
crushing  weight  on  both  listener  and  speaker.  We 
do  not  realize  even  our  own  determinations,  some 
times,  until  we  have  told  them  to  another.  The  girl 
rallied  first ;  for  she  still  hoped. 

"Mr.  Peters,"  she  said,  taking  all  her  courage  in 
her  hands  and  coming  towards  him,  "is  it  wrong  to 
marry  ?  " 

"  For  me  —  it  is." 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  am  a  priest." 

"  Are  you  a  Catholic,  then  ? " 

"  I  am  a  Catholic,  although  not  in  the  sense  you 
mean.  Mine  is  the  true  Catholic  faith  which  the 
Anglican  Church  has  kept  pure  from  the  errors  of 
Eome,  and  mine  it  is  to  make  my  life  accord  with 
the  high  office  I  hold." 

"  Is  it  part  of  your  high  office  to  be  cold  —  and 
hungry  —  and  wretched  ?  " 


124  PETER  THE   PARSON. 

"I  am  not  wretched." 

"  You  are ;  now,  and  at  all  times.  You  are  killing 
yourself." 

"  No ;   else  I  had  died  long,  long  ago." 

"  Well,  then,  of  what  use  is  your  poor  life  as  you 
now  live  it,  either  to  yourself  or  any  one  else  ?  Do 
you  succeed  among  the  miners?  How  many  have 
you  brought  into  the  church  ? " 

"Not  one." 

"And  yourself?  Have  you  succeeded,  so  far,  in 
making  yourself  a  saint  ? " 

"  God  knows  I  have  not,"  replied  the  parson,  cover 
ing  his  face  with  his  hands  as  the  questions  probed 
his  sore,  sad  heart.  "  I  have  failed  in  my  work,  I 
have  failed  in  myself,  I  am  of  all  men  most  miser 
able  !  —  most  miserable ! " 

The  girl  sprang  forward  and  caught  his  arm,  her 
eyes  full  of  love's  pity.  "You  know  you  love  me," 
she  murmured  ;  "  why  fight  against  it  ?  For  I  —  I 
love  you ! " 

What  did  the  parson  do  ? 

He  fell  upon  his  knees,  but  not  to  her,  and  uttered 
a  Latin  prayer,  short  but  fervid. 

"  All  the  kingdoms  of  the  world  and  the  glory  of 
them,"  he  murmured,  "  would  not  be  to  me  so  much 
as  this  !  "  Then  he  rose. 

"  Child,"  he  said,  "  you  know  not  what  you  do." 
And,  opening  the  door,  he  went  away  into  the  snowy 


PETER  THE  PARSON.  125 

forest.  But  the  girl's  weeping  voice  called  after  him, 
"  Herman,  Herman."  He  turned ;  she  had  sunk  upon 
the  threshold.  He  came  back  and  lifted  her  for  a 
moment  in  his  arms. 

"  Be  comforted,  Eosamond,"  he  said,  tenderly.  "  It 
is  but  a  fancy;  you  will  soon  forget  me.  You  do 
not  really  love  me,  —  such  a  one  as  I,"  he  contin 
ued,  bringing  forward,  poor  heart !  his  own  greatest 
sorrow  with  unpitying  hand.  "  But  thank  you,  dear, 
for  the  gentle  fancy."  He  stood  a  moment,  silent; 
then  touched  her  dark  hair  with  his  quivering  lips 
and  disappeared. 

Sunday  morning  the  sun  rose  unclouded,  the  snow 
lay  deep  on  the  ground,  the  first  ice  covered  the 
bay;  winter  had  come.  At  ten  o'clock  the  custom 
ary  service  began  in  the  Chapel  of  St.  John  and 
St.  James,  and  the  little  congregation  shivered,  and 
whispered  that  it  must  really  try  to  raise  money 
enough  for  a  stove.  The  parson  did  not  feel  the  cold, 
although  he  looked  almost  bloodless  in  his  white  sur 
plice.  The  Englishwoman  was  there,  repentant,  — 
the  sick  child  had  not  rallied  under  the  new  minis 
tration  ;  Mrs.  Malone  was  there,  from  sheer  good-na 
ture;  and  several  of  the  villagers  and  two  or  three 
miners  had  strolled  in  because  they  had  nothing  else 
to  do,  Brother  Saul  having  returned  to  the  mine. 
Eose  Eay  was  not  there.  She  was  no  saint,  so  she 
stayed  at  home  and  wept  like  a  sinner. 


126  PETER  THE   PARSON. 

The  congregation,  which  had  sat  silent  through  the 
service,  fell  entirely  asleep  during  the  sermon  on  the 
"General  Councils."  Suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  a 
sentence,  there  came  a  noise  that  stopped  the  par 
son  and  woke  the  sleepers.  Two  or  three  miners 
rushed  into  the  chapel  and  spoke  to  the  few  men 
present.  "  Come  out,"  they  cried,  —  "  come  out  to  the 
mine.  The  thief  's  caught  at  last !  and  who  do  you 
think  it  is  ?  Saul,  Brother  Saul  himself,  the  hypo 
crite  !  They  tracked  him  to  his  den,  and  there  they 
found  the  barrels  and  sacks  and  kegs,  but  the  stuff 
he  's  made  away  with,  most  of  it.  He  took  it  all, 
every  crumb,  and  us  a  starving ! " 

"We've  run  in  to  tell  the  town,"  said  another. 
"  We  've  got  him  fast,  and  we  're  going  to  make  a 
sample  of  him.  Come  out  and  see  the  fun." 

"Yes,"  echoed  a  third,  who  lifted  a  ruffianly  face 
from  his  short,  squat  figure,  "  and  we  '11  take  our  own 
time,  too.  He  's  made  us  suffer,  and  now  he  shall 
suffer  a  bit,  if  I  know  myself." 

The  women  shuddered  as,  with  an  ominous  growl, 
all  the  men  went  out  together. 

"  I  misdoubt  they  '11  hang  him,"  said  Mrs.  Malone, 
shaking  her  head  as  she  looked  after  them. 

"Or  worse,"  said  the  miner's  wife. 

Then  the  two  departed,  and  the  parson  was  left 
alone.  Did  he  cut  off  the  service  ?  No.  Deliber 
ately  he  finished  every  word  of  the  sermon,  sang  a 


PETER  THE   PARSON.  127 

hymn,  and  spoke  the  final  prayer;  then,  after  put 
ting  everything  in  order,  he  too  left  the  little  sanctu 
ary  :  but  he  did  not  go  homeward,  he  took  the  road 
to  the  mine. 

"Don't-ee  go,  sir,  don't!"  pleaded  the  English 
woman,  standing  in  her  doorway  as  he  passed.  "  You 
won't  do  no  good,  sir." 

"Maybe  not,"  answered  the  parson,  gently,  "but 
at  least  I  must  try." 

He  entered  the  forest;  the  air  was  still  and  cold, 
the  snow  crackled  under  his  feet,  and  the  pine-trees 
stretched  away  in  long  white  aisles.  He  looked  like 
a  pygmy  as  he  hastened  on  among  the  forest  giants, 
his  step  more  languid  than  usual  from  sternest  vigil 
and  fasting. 

"  Thou  proud,  evil  body,  I  have  conquered  thee ! " 
he  had  said  in  the  cold  dawning.  And  he  had;  at 
least,  the  body  answered  not  again. 

The  mine  was  several  miles  away,  and  to  lighten 
the  journey  the  little  man  sang  a  hymn,  his  voice 
sounding  through  the  forest  in  singular  melody.  It 
was  an  ancient  hymn  that  he  sang,  written  long  ago 
by  some  cowled  monk,  and  it  told  in  quaint  lan 
guage  of  the  joys  of  "  Paradise  !  O  Paradise  ! "  He 
did  not  feel  the  cold  as  he  sang  of  the  pearly  gates. 

In  the  late  afternoon  his  halting  feet  approached 
the  mine;  as  he  drew  near  the  clearing  he  heard  a 
sound  of  many  voices  shouting  together,  followed  by 


128  PETER  THE  PARSON. 

a  single  cry,  and  a  momentary  silence  more  fearful 
than  the  clamor.  The  tormentors  were  at  work.  The 
parson  ran  forward,  and,  passing  the  log-huts  which 
lay  between,  came  out  upon  the  scene.  A  circle  of 
men  stood  there  around  a  stake.  Fastened  by  a  long 
rope,  crouched  the  wretched  prisoner,  his  face  turned 
to  the  color  of  dough,  his  coarse  features  drawn  apart 
like  an  animal  in  terror,  and  his  hoarse  voice  never 
ceasing  its  piteous  cry,  "  Have  mercy,  good  gentle 
men  !  Dear  gentlemen,  have  mercy ! " 

At  a  little  distance  a  fire  of  logs  was  burning, 
and  from  the  brands  scattered  around  it  was  evi 
dent  that  the  man  had  served  as  a  target  for  the 
fiery  missiles ;  in  addition  he  bore  the  marks  of  blows, 
and  his  clothes  were  torn  and  covered  with  mud  as 
though  he  had  been  dragged  roughly  over  the  ground. 
The  lurid  light  of  the  fire  cast  a  glow  over  the  faces 
of  the  miners;  behind  rose  the  Iron  Mountain,  dark 
in  shadow ;  and  on  each  side  stretched  out  the  ranks 
of  the  white-pine  trees,  like  ghosts  assembled  as  si 
lent  witnesses  against  the  cruelty  of  man.  The  par 
son  rushed  forward,  broke  through  the  circle,  and 
threw  his  arms  around  the  prisoner  at  the  stake, 
protecting  him  with  his  slender  body. 

"  If  ye  kill  him,  ye  must  kill  me  also,"  he  cried, 
in  a  ringing  voice. 

On  the  border,  the  greatest  crime  is  robbery.  A 
thief  is  worse  than  a  murderer ;  a  life  does  not  count 


PETER  THE  PARSON.  129 

so  much  as  life's  supplies.  It  was  not  for  the  mur 
derer  that  the  Lynch  law  was  made,  but  for  the 
thief.  For  months  these  Algonquin  miners  had  suf 
fered  loss ;  their  goods,  their  provisions,  their  clothes, 
and  their  precious  whiskey  had  been  stolen,  day 
after  day,  and  all  search  had  proved  vain;  exasper 
ated,  several  times  actually  suffering  from  want,  they 
had  heaped  up  a  great  store  of  fury  for  the  thief, 
—  fury  increased  tenfold  when,  caught  at  last,  he 
proved  to  be  no  other  than  Brother  Saul,  the  one 
man  whom  they  had  trusted,  the  one  man  whom 
they  had  clothed  and  fed  before  themselves,  the  one 
man  from  whom  they  had  expected  better  things. 
An  honest,  bloodthirsty  wolf  in  his  own  skin  was 
an  animal  they  respected;  indeed,  they  were  them 
selves  little  better.  But  a  wolf  in  sheep's  clothing 
was  utterly  abhorrent  to  their  peculiar  sense  of 
honor.  So  they  gathered  around  their  prey,  and  es 
teemed  it  rightfully  theirs ;  whiskey  had  sharpened 
their  enjoyment. 

To  this  savage  band,  enter  the  little  parson. 
"  What !  are  ye  men  ? "  he  cried.  "  Shame,  shame, 
ye  murderers ! " 

The  miners  stared  at  the  small  figure  that  defied 
them,  and  for  the  moment  their  anger  gave  way  be 
fore  a  rough  sense  of  the  ludicrous. 

"Hear  the  little  man,"  they  cried.     "Hurrah,  Pe 
ter!     Go  ahead!" 
9 


130  PETER  THE  PARSON. 

But  they  soon  wearied  of  his  appeal  and  began  to 
answer  back. 

"  What  are  clothes  or  provisions  to  a  life  ? "  said 
the  minister. 

"Life  ain't  worth  much  without  'em,  Parson,"  re 
plied  a  miner.  "  He  took  all  we  had,  and  we  Ve 
gone  cold  and  hungry  'long  of  him,  and  he  knowed 
it.  And  all  the  time  we  was  a  giving  him  of  the 

O  O 

best,  and  a  believing  his  praying  and  his  preaching." 
"If  he   is   guilty,  let   him   be   tried   by   the   legal 
authorities." 

"  We  're  our  own  legal  'thorities,  Parson." 
"The  country  will  call  you  to  account." 
"The    country    won't    do    nothing    of    the    kind. 
Much   the   country  cares   for  us  poor  miners,  frozen 
up  here  in   the   woods  !     Stand  back,  Parson.     Why 
should  you   bother   about  Saul  ?     You   always   hated 
him." 

"  Never !   never ! "  answered   the   parson,  earnestly. 
"You  did  too,  and   he  knowed  it.     'Twas   because 
he  was  dirty,  and   could  n't  mince   his  words  as  you 
do." 

The  parson  turned  to  the  crouching  figure  at  his 
side.  "Friend,"  he  said,  "if  this  is  true,  —  and  the 
heart  is  darkly  deceitful  and  hides  from  man  his 
own  worst  sins,  —  I  humbly  ask  your  forgiveness." 

"  0  come !  None  of  your  gammon,"  said  another 
miner,  impatiently.  "  Saul  did  n't  care  whether  you 


PETER  THE   PARSON.  131 

liked  him    or   not,  for   he   knowed   you   was   only  a 
coward." 

"  'Fraid  of  a  dog !  Traid  of  a  dog  1 "  shouted  half 
a  dozen  voices ;  and  a  frozen  twig  struck  the  parson's 
cheek,  and 'drew  blood. 

"  Why,  he  's  got  blood ! "  said  one.  "  I  never 
thought  he  had  any." 

"  Come,  Parson,"  said  a  friendly  miner,  advancing 
from  the  circle,  "  we  don't  want  to  hurt  you,  but  you 
might  as  well  understand  that  we  're  the  masters  here." 

"And  if  ye  are  the  masters,  then  be  just.  Give 
the  criminal  to  me;  I  will  myself  take  him  to  the 
nearest  judge,  the  nearest  jail,  and  deliver  him  up." 

"  He  '11  be  more  likely  to  deliver  you  up,  I  reck 
on,  Parson." 

"Well,  then,  send  a  committee  of  your  own  men 
with  me  —  " 

"  We  've  got  other  things  to  do  besides  taking 
long  journeys  over  the  ice  to  'commodate  thieves, 
Parson.  Leave  the  man  to  us." 

"  And  to  torture  ?  Men,  men,  ye  would  not  treat 
a  beast  so  ! " 

"A  beast  don't  steal  our  food  and  whiskey,"  sang 
out  a  miner. 

"  Stand  back !  stand  back  !  "  shouted  several  voices. 
"  You  're  too  little  to  fight,  Parson." 

"But  not  too  little  to  die,"  answered  the  minister, 
throwing  up  his  arms  towards  the  sky. 


132  PETER  THE  PARSON. 

For  an  instant  his  words  held  the  men  in  check ; 
they  looked  at  each  other,  then  at  him. 

"Think  of  yourselves,"  continued  the  minister. 
"  Are  ye  without  fault  ?  If  ye  murder  this  man,  ye 
are  worse  than  he  is." 

But  here  the  minister  went  astray  in  his  appeal, 
and  ran  against  the  views  of  the  border. 

1 "  Worse  !  Worse  than  a  sneaking  thief  I  Worse 
than  a  praying  hypocrite  who  robs  the  very  men 
that  feed  him  !  Look  here,  we  won't  stand  that ! 
Sheer  off,  or  take  the  consequences."  And  a  burn 
ing  brand  struck  the  parson's  coat,  and  fell  on  the 
head  of  the  crouching  figure  at  his  side,  setting  fire 
to  its  hair.  Instantly  the  parson  extinguished  the 
light  flame,  and  drew  the  burly  form  closer  within 
his  arms,  so  that  the  two  stood  as  one.  "Not  one, 
but  both  of  us,"  he  cried. 

A  new  voice  spoke  next,  the  voice  of  the  oldest 
miner,  the  most  hardened  reprobate  there.  "  Let  go 
that  rascal,  Parson.  He  's  the  fellow  that  lamed  you 
last  spring.  He  set  the  trap  himself;  I  seen  him 
a  doing  it." 

Involuntarily,  for  a  moment,  Herman  Peters  drew 
back  ;  the  trap  set  at  the  chapel  door,  the  deliber 
ate,  cruel  intention,  the  painful  injury,  and  its  life 
long  result,  brought  the  angry  color  to  his  pale  face. 
The  memory  was  full  of  the  old  bitterness. 

But    Saul,   feeling    himself    deserted,    dragged    his 


PETER  THE  PARSON.  133 

miserable  body  forward,  and  clasped  the  parson's 
knees.  With  desperate  hands  he  clung,  and  he  was 
not  repulsed.  Without  a  word  the  parson  drew  him 
closer,  and  again  faced  the  crowd. 

"  Why,  the  man  's  a  downright  fool ! "  said  the  old 
miner.  "  That  Saul  lamed  him  for  life,  and  all  for 
nothing,  and  still  he  stands  by  him.  The  man  's 
mad!" 

"I  am  not  mad,"  answered  the  parson,  and  his 
voice  rung  out  clear  and  sweet.  "But  I  am  a  min 
ister  of  the  great  God  who  has  said  to  men,  '  Thou 
shalt  do  no  murder.'  0  men !  O  brothers !  look 
back  into  your  own  lives.  Have  ye  no  crimes,  no 
sins  to  be  forgiven  ?  Can  ye  expect  mercy  when  ye 
give  none  ?  Let  this  poor  creature  go,  and  it  shall 
be  counted  unto  you  for  goodness.  Ye,  too,  must 
some  time  die ;  and  when  the  hour  comes,  as  it  often 
comes,  in  lives  like  yours,  with  sudden  horror,  ye  will 
have  this  good  deed  to  remember.  For  charity  — 
which  is  mercy  —  shall  cover  a  multitude  of  sins." 

He  ceased,  and  there  was  a  momentary  pause. 
Then  a  stern  voice  answered,  "Facts  won't  alter, 
Parson.  The  man  is  a  thief,  and  must  be  punished. 
Your  talk  may  do  for  women-folks,  not  for  us." 

"Women-folks!"  repeated  the  ruffian-faced  man 
who  had  made  the  women  shudder  at  the  chapel. 
"  He  's  a  sly  fox,  this  parson !  He  did  n't  go  out  to 
meet  Rosie  Ray  at  the  Grotter  yesterday,  O  no  ! " 


134  PETER  THE   PARSON. 

"Liar!"  shouted  a  man,  who  had  been  standing 
in  the  shadow  on  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd,  taking, 
so  far,  no  part  in  the  scene.  He  forced  himself  to 
the  front ;  it  was  Steven  Long,  his  face  dark  with 
passion. 

"  No  liar  at  all,  Steve,"  answered  the  first.  "  I 
seen  'em  there  with  my  own  eyes ;  they  had  things 
to  eat  and  everything.  Just  ask  the  parson." 

"  Yes,  ask  the  parson,"  echoed  the  others ;  and  with 
the  shifting  humor  of  the  border,  they  stopped  to 
laugh  over  the  idea.  "Ask  the  parson." 

Steven  Long  stepped  forward  and  confronted  the 
little  minister.  His  strong  hands  were  clinched,  his 
blood  was  on  fire  with  jealousy.  The  bull-dog  fol 
lowed  his  master,  and  smelled  around  the  parson's 
gaiters,  —  the  same  poor  old  shoes,  his  only  pair, 
now  wet  with  melted  snow.  The  parson  glanced 
down  apprehensively. 

"  Traid  of  a  dog  !  Traid  of  a  dog ! "  shouted  the 
miners,  again  laughing  uproariously.  The  fun  was 
better  than  they  had  anticipated. 

"  Is  it  true  ? "  demanded  Steven  Long,  in  a  hoarse 
voice.  "Did  you  meet  that  girl  at  the  Grotter  yes 
terday  ? " 

"I  did  meet  Eosamond  Eay  at  the  Grotto  yes 
terday,"  answered  the  parson  ;  "  but  —  " 

He  never  finished  the  sentence.  A  fragment  of 
iron  ore  struck  him  on  the  temple.  He  fell,  and 


PETER  THE   PARSON.  135 

died,  his    small   body   lying  across   the   thief,   whom 
he  still  protected  even  in  death. 

The  murder  was  not  avenged ;  Steven  Long  was 
left  to  go  his  own  way.  But  as  the  thief  was  also 
allowed  to  depart  unmolested,  the  principles  of  bor 
der  justice  were  held  to  have  been  amply  satisfied. 

The  miners  attended  the  funeral  in  a  body,  and 
even  deputed  one  of  their  number  to  read  the  Epis 
copal  burial  service  over  the  rough  pine  coffin,  since 
there  was  no  one  else  to  do  it.  They  brought  out 
the  chapel  prayer-books,  found  the  places,  and  fol 
lowed  as  well  as  they  could ;  for  "  he  thought  a  deal 
of  them  books.  Don't  you  remember  how  he  was 
always  carrying  'em  backward  and  forward,  poor  little 
chap!" 

The  Chapel  of  St.  John  and  St.  James  was  closed 
for  the  season.  In  the  summer  a  new  missionary 
arrived;  he  was  not  ritualistic,  and  before  the  year 
was  out  he  married  Eosamond  Kay. 


JEANNETTE. 


EFOEE  the  war  for  the  Union,  in  the  times  of 
the  old  ariny,  there  had  been  peace  through 
out  the  country  for  thirteen  years.  Eegiments  ex 
isted  in  their  officers,  but  the  ranks  were  thin,  — 
the  more  so  the  better,  since  the  United  States 
possessed  few  forts  and  seemed  in  chronic  embar 
rassment  over  her  military  children,  owing  to  the 
flying  foot- ball  of  public  opinion,  now  "standing 
army  pro,"  now  "  standing  army  con,"  with  more  or 
less  allusion  to  the  much-enduring  Caesar  and  his 
legions,  the  ever-present  ghost  of  the  political  arena. 

In  those  days  the  few  forts  were  full  and  much 
state  was  kept  up  ;  the  officers  were  all  graduates 
of  West  Point,  and  their  wives  graduates  of  the  first 
families.  They  prided  themselves  upon  their  ante 
cedents  ;  and  if  there  was  any  aristocracy  in  the 
country,  it  was  in  the  circles  of  army  life. 

Those  were  pleasant  days,  —  pleasant  for  the  old 
soldiers  who  were  resting  after  Mexico,  —  pleasant 
for  young  soldiers  destined  to  die  on  the  plains  of 


JEANNETTE.  137 

Gettysburg  or  the  cloudy  heights  of  Lookout  Moun 
tain.  There  was  an  esprit  de  corps  in  the  little  band, 
a  dignity  of  bearing,  and  a  ceremonious  state,  lost  in 
the  great  struggle  which  came  afterward.  That  great 
struggle  now  lies  ten  years  back;  yet,  to-day,  when 
the  silver-haired  veterans  meet,  they  pass  it  over  as 
a  thing  of  the  present,  and  go  back  to  the  times  of 
the  "  old  army." 

Up  in  the  northern  straits,  between  blue  Lake 
Huron,  with  its  clear  air,  and  gray  Lake  Michigan, 
with  its .  silver  fogs,  lies  the  bold  island  of  Mackinac. 
Clustered  along  the  beach,  which  runs  around  its 
half-moon  harbor,  are  the  houses  of  the  old  French 
village,  nestling  at  the  foot  of  the  cliff  rising  behind, 
crowned  with  the  little  white  fort,  the  stars  and 
stripes  floating  above  it  against  the  deep  blue  sky. 
Beyond,  on  all  sides,  the  forest  stretches  away,  cliffs 
finishing  it  abruptly,  save  one  slope  at  the  far  end 
of  the  island,  three,  miles  distant,  where  the  British 
landed  in  1812.  That  is  the  whole  of  Mackinac. 

The  island  has  a  strange  sufficiency  of  its  own; 
it  satisfies  ;  all  who  have  lived  there  feel  it.  The 
island  has  a  wild  beauty  of  its  own ;  it  fascinates ; 
all  who  have  lived  there  love  it.  Among  'its  aro 
matic  cedars,  along  the  aisles  of  its  pine-trees,  in  the 
gay  company  of  its  maples,  there  is  companionship. 
On  its  bald  northern  cliffs,  bathed  in  sunshine  and 
swept  by  the  pure  breeze,  there  is  exhilaration. 


138  JEANNETTE. 

Many  there  are,  bearing  the  burden  and  heat  of  the 
day,  who  look  back  to  the  island  with  the  tears  that 
rise  but  do  not  fall,  the  sudden  longing  despondency 
that  comes  occasionally  to  all,  when  the  tired  heart 
cries  out,  "  0,  to  escape,  to  flee  away,  far,  far  away, 
and  be  at  rest!" 

In  1856  Fort  Mackinac  held  a  major,  a  captain, 
three  lieutenants,  a  chaplain,  and  a  surgeon,  besides 
those  subordinate  officers  who  wear  stripes  on  their 
sleeves,  and  whose  rank  and  duties  are  mysterious 
to  the  uninitiated.  The  force  for  this  array  of  com 
manders  was  small,  less,  than  a  company;  but  what 
it  lacked  in  quantity  it  made  up  in  quality,  owing 
to  the  continual  drilling  it  received. 

The  days  were  long  at  Fort  Mackinac;  happy 
thought !  drill  the  men.  So  when  the  major  had 
finished,  the  captain  began,  and  each  lieutenant  was 
watching  his  chance.  Much  state  was  kept  up  also. 
Whenever  the  major  appeared, .  "  Commanding  offi 
cer;  guard,  present  arms,"  was  called  down  the  line 
of  men  on  duty,  and  the  guard  hastened  to  obey, 
the  major  acknowledging  the  salute  with  stiff  pre 
cision.  By  day  and  by  night  sentinels  paced  the 
walls.  True,  the  walls  were  crumbling,  and  the  wrhole 
force  was  constantly  engaged  in  propping  them  up, 
but  none  the  less  did  the  sentinels  pace  with  dig 
nity.  What  was  it  to  the  captain  if,  while  he 
sternly  inspected  the  muskets  in  the  block-house,  the 


JEANNETTE.  139 

lieutenant,  with  a  detail  of  men,  was  hard  at  work 
strengthening  its  underpinning  ?  None  the  less  did 
he  inspect.  The  sally-port,  mended  but  imposing; 
the  flag-staff  with  its  fair-weather  and  storm  flags ; 
the  frowning  iron  grating;  the  sidling  white  cause 
way,  constantly  falling  down  and  as  constantly  re 
paired,  which  led  up  to  the  main  entrance ;  the  well- 
preserved  old  cannon,  —  all  showed  a  strict  military 
rule.  When  the  men  were  not  drilling  they  were 
propping  up  the  fort,  and  when  they  were  not  prop 
ping  up  the  fort  they  were  drilling.  In  the  early 
days,  the  days  of  the  first  American  commanders, 
military  roads  had  been  made  through  the  forest,— 
roads  even  now  smooth  and  solid,  although  trees  of 
a  second  growth  meet  overhead.  But  that  was  when 
the  fort  was  young  and  stood  firmly  on  its  legs.  In 
1856  there  was  no  time  for  road-making,  for  when 
military  duty  was  over  there  was  always  more  or 
less  mending  to  keep  the  whole  fortification  from 
sliding  down  hill  into  the  lake. 

On  Sunday  there  was  service  in  the  little  chapel, 
an  upper  room  overlooking  the  inside  parade-ground. 
Here  the  kindly  Episcopal  chaplain  read  the  chapters 
about  Balaam  and  Balak,  and  always  made  the  same 
impressive  pause  after  "  Let  me  die  the  death  of  the 
righteous,  and  let  my  last  end  be  like  his."  (Dear 
old  man !  he  has  gone.  Would  that  our  last  end 
might  indeed  be  like  his  !)  Not  that  the  chaplain 


140  JEANNETTE. 

confined  his  reading  to  the  Book  of  Numbers;  but 
as  those  chapters  are  appointed  for  the  August  Sun 
days,  and  as  it  was  in  August  that  the  summer  vis 
itors  came  to  Mackinac,  the  little  chapel  is  in  many 
minds  associated  with  the  patient  Balak,  his  seven 
altars,  and  his  seven  rams. 

There  was  state  and  discipline  in  the  fort  even  on 
Sundays;  bugle-playing  marshalled  the  congregation 
in,  bugle-playing  marshalled  them  out.  If  the  sermon 
was  not  finished,  so  much  the  worse  for  the  sermon, 
but  it  made  no  difference  to  the  bugle;  at  a  given 
moment  it  sounded,  and  out  marched  all  the  soldiers, 
drowning  the  poor  chaplain's  hurrying  voice  with 
their  tramp  down  the  stairs.  The  officers  attended 
service  in  full  uniform,  sitting  erect  and  dignified  in 
the  front  seats.  We  used  to  smile  at  the  grand  air 
they  had,  from  the  stately  gray-haired  major  down 
to  the  youngest  lieutenant  fresh  from  the  Point. 
But  brave  hearts  were  beating  under  those  fine  uni 
forms  ;  and  when  the  great  struggle  came,  one  and 
all  died  on  the  field  in  the  front  of  the  battle. 
Over  the  grave  of  the  commanding  officer  is  inscribed 
"  Major-General,"  over  the  captain's  is  "  Brigadier," 
and  over  each  young  lieutenant  is  "Colonel."  They 
gained  their  promotion  in  death. 

I  spent  many  months  at  Fort  Mackinac  with  Archie ; 
Archie  was  my  nephew,  a  young  lieutenant.  In  the 
short,  bright  summer  came  the  visitors  from  below ;  all 


JEANNETTE.  141 

the  world  outside  is  "  below  "  in  island  vernacular.  In 
the  long  winter  the  little  white  fort  looked  out  over 
unbroken  ice-fields,  and  watched  for  the  moving  black 
dot  of  the  dog-train  bringing  the  mails  from  the  main 
land.  One  January  day  I  had  been  out  walking  on 
the  snow-crust,  breathing  the  cold,  still  air,  and,  re 
turning  within  the  walls  to  our  quarters,  I  found  my 
little  parlor  already  occupied.  Jeannette  was  there, 
petite  Jeanneton,  the  fisherman's  daughter.  Strange 
beauty  sometimes  results  from  a  mixed  descent,  and 
this  girl  had  French,  English,  and  Indian  blood  in  her 
veins,  the  three  races  mixing  and  intermixing  among  her 
ancestors,  according  to  the  custom  of  the  Northwestern 
border.  A  bold  profile  delicately  finished,  heavy  blue- 
black  hair,  light  blue  eyes  looking  out  unexpectedly 
from  under  black  lashes  and  brows  ;  a  fair  white  skin, 
neither  the  rose-white  of  the  blonde  nor  the  cream- 
white  of  the  Oriental  brunette ;  a  rounded  form  with 
small  hands  and  feet,  —  showed  the  mixed  beauties  of 
three  nationalities.  Yes,  there  could  be  no  doubt  but 
that  Jeannette  was  singularly  lovely,  albeit  ignorant 
utterly.  Her  dress  was  as  much  of  a  melange  as  her 
ancestry :  a  short  skirt  of  military  blue,  Indian  leggins 
and  moccasins,  a  red  jacket  and  little  red  cap  embroid 
ered  with  beads.  The  thick  braids  of  her  hair  hung 
down  her  back,  and  on  the  lounge  lay  a  large  blanket- 
mantle  lined  with  fox-skins  and  ornamented  with  the 
plumage  of  birds.  She  had  come  to  teach  me  bead- 


142  JEANNETTE. 

work;  I  had  already  taken  several  lessons  to  while 
away  the  time,  but  found  myself  an  awkward  scholar. 

" Bonjou\  madame"  she  said,  in  her  patois  of  broken 
English  and  degenerate  French.  "  Pretty  here." 

My  little  parlor  had  a  square  of  carpet,  a  hearth-fire 
of  great  logs,  Turkey-red  curtains,  a  lounge  and  arm 
chair  covered  with  chintz,  several  prints  on  the  cracked 
walls,  and  a  number  of  books,  —  the  whole  well  used 
and  worn,  worth  perhaps  twenty  dollars  in  any  town 
below,  but  ten  times  twenty  in  icy  Mackinac.  I  be 
gan  the  bead-work,  and  Jeannette  was  laughing  at 
my  mistakes,  when  the  door  opened,  and  our  surgeon 
came  in,  pausing  to  warm  his  hands  before  going  up 
to  his  room  in  the  attic.  A  taciturn  man  was  our  sur 
geon,  Kodney  Prescott,  not  popular  in  the  merry  garri 
son  circle,  but  a  favorite  of  mine ;  the  Puritan,  the 
New-Englander,  the  Boston! an,  were  as  plainly  written 
upon  his  face  as  the  French  and  Indian  were  written 
upon  Jeannette. 

"  Sit  down,  Doctor,"  I  said. 

He  took  a  seat  and  watched  us  carelessly,  now  and 
then  smiling  at  Jeannette's  chatter  as  a  giant  might 
smile  upon  a  pygmy.  I  could  see  that  the  child  was 
putting  on  all  her  little  airs  to  attract  his  attention ; 
now  the  long  lashes  swept  the  cheeks,  now  they  were 
raised  suddenly,  disclosing  the  unexpected  blue  eyes; 
the  little  moccasined  feet  must  be  warmed  on  the  fen 
der,  the  braids  must  be  swept  back  with  an  impatient 


JEANNETTE.  143 

movement  of  the  hand  and  shoulder,  and  now  and 
then  there  was  a  coquettish  arch  of  the  red  lips,  less 
than  a  pout,  what  she  herself  would  have  called  "  une 
p'tite  moue"  Our  surgeon  watched  this  pantomime 
unmoved. 

"  Is  n't  she  beautiful  ? "  I  said,  when,  at  the  expira 
tion  of  the  hour,  Jeannette  disappeared,  wrapped  in  her 
mantle. 

"  No ;  not  to  my  eyes." 

"  Why,  what  more  can  you  require,  Doctor  ?  Look 
at  her  rich  coloring,  her  hair  — " 

"There  is  no  mind  in  her  face,  Mrs.  Corlyne." 

"But  she  is  still  a  child." 

"She  will  always  be  a  child;  she  will  never  ma 
ture,"  answered  our  surgeon,  going  up  the  steep  stairs 
to  his  room  above. 

Jeannette  came  regularly,  and  one  morning,  tired  of 
the  bead- work,  I  proposed  teaching  her  to  read.  She 
consented,  although  not  without  an  incentive  in  the 
form  of  shillings;  but,  however  gained,  my  scholar 
gave  to  the  long  winter  a  new  interest.  She  learned 
readily  ;  but  as  there  was  no  foundation,  I  was  obliged 
to  commence  with  A,  B,  C. 

"  Why  not  teach  her  to  cook  ? "  suggested  the  ma 
jor's  fair  young  wife,  whose  life  was  spent  in  hopeless 
labors  with  Indian  servants,  who,  sooner  or  later,  ran 
away  in  the  night  with  spoons  and  the  family  apparel. 

"Why  not  teach  her  to  sew?"  said  Madame  Cap- 


144  JEANNETTE. 

tain,  wearily  raising  her  eyes  from  the  pile  of  small 
garments  before  her. 

"  Why  not  have  her  up  for  one  of  our  sociables  ? " 
hazarded  our  most  dashing  lieutenant,  twirling  his 
mustache. 

"  Frederick ! "  exclaimed  his  wife,  in  a  tone  of  hor 
ror  :  she  was  aristocratic,  but  sharp  in  outlines. 

"  Why  not  bring  her  into  the  church  ?  Those  French 
half-breeds  are  little  better  than  heathen,"  said  the 
chaplain. 

Thus  the  high  authorities  disapproved  of  my  educa 
tional  efforts.  I  related  their  comments  to  Archie,  and 
added,  "The  surgeon  is  the  only  one  who  has  said 
nothing  against  it." 

"  Prescott  ?  0,  he  's  too  high  and  mighty  to  notice 
anybody,  much  less  a  half-breed  girl.  I  never  saw 
such  a  stiff,  silent  fellow ;  he  looks  as  though  he  had 
swallowed  all  his  straightlaced  Puritan  ancestors.  I 
wish  he  'd  exchange." 

"Gently,  Archie  —  " 

"0,  yes,  without  doubt;  certainly,  and  amen!  I 
know  you  like  him,  Aunt  Sarah,"  said  my  handsome 
boy-soldier,  laughing. 

The  lessons  went  on.  We  often  saw  the  surgeon 
during  study  hours,  as  the  stairway  leading  to  his 
room  opened  out  of  the  little  parlor.  Sometimes  he 
would  stop  awhile  and  listen  as  Jeannette  slowly  read, 
"  The  good  boy  likes  his  red  top  "  ;  "  The  good  girl  can 


JEANNETTE.  145 

sew  a  seam " ;  or  watched  her  awkward  attempts  to 
write  her  name,  or  add  a  one  and  a  two.  It  was  slow 
work,  but  I  persevered,  if  from  no  other  motive  than 
obstinacy.  Had  not  they  all  prophesied  a  failure? 
When  wearied  with  the  dull  routine,  I  gave  an  oral 
lesson  in  poetry.  If  the  rhymes  were  of  the  chiming, 
rhythmic  kind,  Jeannette  learned  rapidly,  catching  the 
verses  as  one  catches  a  tune,  and  repeating  them  with 
a  spirit  and  dramatic  gesture  all  her  own.  Her  favorite 
was  Macaulay's  "  Ivry."  Beautiful  she  looked,  as, 
standing  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  she  rolled  out  the 
sonorous  lines,  her  French  accent  giving  a  charming 
foreign  coloring  to  the  well-known  verses :  — 

"  Now  by  the  lips  of  those  ye  love,  fair  gentlemen  of  France, 
Charge  for  the  golden  lilies,  —  upon  them  with  the  lance  ! 
A  thousand  spurs  are  striking  deep,  a  thousand  spears  in  rest, 
A  thousand  knights  are  pressing  close  behind  the  snow-white  crest ; 
And  in  they  burst,  and  on  they  rushed,  while,  like  a  guiding  star, 
Amidst  the  thickest  carnage  blazed  the  helmet  of  Navarre." 

And  yet,  after  all  my  explanations,  she  only  half 
understood  it;  the  "knights"  were  always  "nights" 
in  her  mind,  and  the  "thickest  carnage"  was  always 
the  "thickest  carriage." 

One  March  day  she  came  at  the  appointed  hour, 
soon  after  our  noon  dinner.  The  usual  clear  winter 
sky  was  clouded,  and  a  wind  blew  the  snow  from  the 
trees  where  it  had  lain  quietly  month  after  month. 

"Spring  is  coming,"  said  the  old  sergeant  that  morn- 
10 


146  JEANNETTE. 

ing,  as  he  hoisted  the  storm-flag ;  "  it 's  getting  wild- 
like." 

Jeaimette  and  I  went  through  the  lessons,  but  to 
ward  three  o'clock  a  north-wind  came  sweeping  over 
the  Straits  and  enveloped  the  island  in  a  whirling 
snow-storm,  partly  eddies  of  white  splinters  torn  from 
the  ice-bound  forest,  and  partly  a  new  fall  of  round 
snow  pellets  careering  along  on  the  gale,  quite  unlike 
the  soft,  feathery  flakes  of  early  winter.  "  You  can 
not  go  home  now,  Jeannette,"  I  said,  looking  out 
through  the  little  west  window;  our  cottage  stood 
back  on  the  hill,  and  from  this  side  window  we  could 
see  the  Straits,  going  down  toward  far  Waugoschance ; 
the  steep  fort-hill  outside  the  wall ;  the  long  meadow, 
once  an  Indian  burial-place,  below;  and  beyond  on 
the  beach  the  row  of  cabins  inhabited  by  the  French 
fishermen,  one  of  them  the  home  of  my  pupil.  The 
girl  seldom  went  round  the  point  into  the  village  ; 
its  one  street  and  a  half  seemed  distasteful  to  her. 
She  climbed  the  stone-wall  on  the  ridge  behind  her 
cabin,  took  an  Indian  trail  through  the  grass  in  sum 
mer,  or  struck  across  on  the  snow-crust  in  winter, 
ran  up  the  steep  side  of  the  fort-hill  like  a  wild 
chamois,  and  came  into  the  garrison  enclosure  with 
a  careless  nod  to  the  admiring  sentinel,  as  she  passed 
under  the  rear  entrance.  These  French  half-breeds, 
like  the  gypsies,  were  not  without  a  pride  of  their 
own.  They  held  themselves  aloof  from  the  Irish  of 


JEANNETTE.  147 

Shanty-town,  the  floating  sailor  population  of  the 
summer,  and  the  common  soldiers  of  the  garrison. 
They  intermarried  among  themselves,  and  held  their 
own  revels  in  their  beach-cabins  during  the  winter, 
with  music  from  their  old  violins,  dancing  and  songs, 
French  ballads  with  a  chorus  after  every  two  lines, 
quaint  chansons  handed  down  from  voyageur  ancestors. 
Small  respect  had  they  for  the  little  Eornan  Catholic 
church  beyond  the  old  Agency  garden ;  its  German 
priest  they  refused  to  honor;  but,  when  stately  old 
Father  Piret  came  over  to  the  island  from  his  her 
mitage  in  the  Chenaux,  they  ran  to  meet  him,  young 
and  old,  and  paid  him  reverence  with  affectionate 
respect.  Father  Piret  was  a  Parisian,  and  a  gentle 
man  ;  nothing  less  would  suit  these  far-away  sheep 
in  the  wilderness ! 

Jeannette  Leblanc  had  all  the  pride  of  her  class ; 
the  Irish  saloon-keeper  with  his  shining  tall  hat,  the 
loud-talking  mate  of  the  lake  schooner,  the  trim  sen 
tinel  pacing  the  fort  walls,  were  nothing  to  her,  and 
this  somewhat  incongruous  hauteur  gave  her  the  air 
of  a  little  princess. 

On  this  stormy  afternoon  the  captain's  wife  was  in 
my  parlor  preparing  to  return  to  her  own  quarters 
with  some  coffee  she  had  borrowed.  Hearing  my  re 
mark  she  said,  "0,  the  snow  won't  hurt  the  child, 
Mrs.  Corlyne;  she  must  be  storm-proof,  living  down 
there  on  the  beach !  Duncan  can  take  her  home." 


148  JEANNETTE. 

Duncan  was  the  orderly,  a  factotum  in  the  garri 
son. 

"  Non"  said  Jeannette,  tossing  her  head  proudly 
as  the  door  closed  behind  the  lady,  "I  wish  not  of 
Duncan;  I  go  alone." 

It  happened  that  Archie,  my  nephew,  had  gone  over 
to  the  cottage  of  the  commanding  officer  to  decorate 
the  parlor  for  the  military  sociable ;  I  knew  he  would 
not  return,  and  the  evening  stretched  out  before  me 
in  all  its  long  loneliness.  "  Stay,  Jeannette,"  I  said. 
"  We  will  have  tea  together  here,  and  when  the  wind 
goes  down,  old  Antoine  shall  go  back  with  you."  An- 
toine  was  a  French  wood-cutter,  whose  cabin  clung 
half-way  down  the  fort-hill  like  a  swallowT's  nest. 

Jeannette's  eyes  sparkled;  I  had  never  invited  her 
before ;  in  an  instant  she  had  turned  the  day  into 
a  high  festival.  "  Braid  hair  ?  "  she  asked,  glancing 
toward  the  mirror;  "fautqueje  m'  fosse  Idle!'  And 
the  long  hair  came  out  of  its  close  braids,  enveloping 
her  in  its  glossy  dark  waves,  while  she  carefully 
smoothed  out  the  bits  of  red  ribbon  that  served  as 
fastenings.  At  this  moment  the  door  opened,  and  the 
surgeon,  the  wind,  and  a  puff  of  snow  came  in  together. 
Jeannette  looked  up,  smiling  and  blushing ;  'the  falling 
hair  gave  a  new  softness  to  her  face,  and  her  eyes  were 
as  shy  as  the  eyes  of  a  wild  fawn. 

Only  the  previous  day  I  had  noticed  that  Rodney 
Prescott  listened  with  marked  attention  to  the  captain's 


JEANNETTE.  149 

cousin,  a  Virginia  lady,  as  she  advanced  a  theory  that 
Jeannette  had  negro  blood  in  her  veins.  "  Those  quad 
roon  girls  often,  have  a  certain  kind  of  plebeian  beauty 
like  this  pet  of  yours,  Mrs.  Corlyne,"  she  said,  with  a 
slight  sniff  of  her  high-bred,  pointed  nose.  In  vain  I 
exclaimed,  in  vain  I  argued ;  the  garrison  ladies  were 
all  against  me,  and,  in  their  presence,  not  a  man  dared 
come  to  my  aid ;  and  the  surgeon  even  added,  "  I  wish 
I  could  be  sure  of  it." 

"  Sure  of  the  negro  blood  ? "  I  said,  indignantly. 

"Yes." 

"But  Jeannette  does  not  look  in  the  least  like  a 
quadroon." 

"  Some  of  the  quadroon  girls  are  very  handsome,  Mrs. 
Corlyne,"  answered  the  surgeon,  coldly. 

"  0  yes  ! "  said  the  high-bred  Virginia  lady.  "  My 
brother  has  a  number  of  them  about  his  place,  but  we 
do  not  teach  them  to  read,  I  assure  you.  It  spoils 
them." 

As  I  looked  at  Jeannette's  beautiful  face,  her  deli 
cate  eagle  profile,  her  fair  skin  and  light  blue  eyes,  I 
recalled  this  conversation  with  vivid  indignation.  The 
surgeon,  at  least,  should  be  convinced  of  his  mistake. 
Jeannette  had  never  looked  more  brilliant ;  probably 
the  man  had  never  really  scanned  her  features,  —  he 
was  such  a  cold,  unseeing  creature ;  but  to-night  he 
should  have  a  fair  opportunity,  so  I  invited  him  to 
join  our  storm-bound  tea-party.  He  hesitated. 


150  JEANNETTE. 

"  Ah,  do,  Monsieur  Kodenai,"  said  Jeannette,  spring 
ing  forward.  "  I  sing  for  you,  I  dance ;  but,  no,  you 
not  like  that.  Bien,  I  tell  your  fortune  then."  The 
young  girl  loved  company.  A  party  of  three,  no  mat 
ter  who  the  third,  was  to  her  infinitely  better  than 
two. 

The  surgeon  stayed. 

A  merry  evening  we  had  before  the  hearth-fire. 
The  wind  howled  around  the  block-house  and  rattled 
the  flag-staff,  and  the  snow  pellets  sounded  on  the 
window-panes,  giving  that  sense  of  warm  comfort 
within  that  comes  only  with  the  storm.  Our  servant 
had  been  drafted  into  service  for  the  military  sociable, 
and  I  was  to  prepare  the  evening  meal  myself. 

"  Not  tea,"  said  Jeannette,  with  a  wry  face ;  "  tea,  — 
c'est  medecine!"  She  had  arranged  her  hair  in  fan 
ciful  braids,  and  now  followed  me  to  the  kitchen, 
enjoying  the  novelty  like  a  child.  "Cafe?"  she  said. 
"  O,  please,  madame  !  /  make  it." 

The  little  shed  kitchen  was  cold  and  dreary,  each 
plank  of  its  thin  walls  rattling  in  the  gale  with  a 
dismal  creak;  the  wind  blew  the  smoke  down  the 
chimney,  and  finally  it  ended  in  our  bringing  every 
thing  into  the  cosey  parlor,  and  using  the  hearth  fire, 
where  Jeannette  made  coffee  and  baked  little  cakes 
over  the  coals. 

The  meal  over,  Jeannette  sang  her  songs,  sitting 
on  the  rug  before  the  fire,  —  Le  Beau  Voyageur,  Les 


JEANNETTE.  151 

Neiges  de  la  Cloche,  ballads  in  Canadian  patois  sung 
to  minor  airs  brought  over  from  France  two  hundred 
years  before. 

The  surgeon  sat  in  the  shade  of  the  chimney-piece, 
his  face  shaded  by  his  hand,  and  I  could  not  discover 
whether  he  saw  anything  to  admire  in  my  protegee, 
until,  standing  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  she  gave  us 
"  Ivry  "  in  glorious  style.  Beautiful  she  looked  as  she 
rolled  out  the  lines :  — 

"  And  if  my  standard-bearer  fall,  as  fall  full  well  he  may,  — 
For  never  saw  I  promise  yet  of  such  a  bloody  fray,  — 
Press  where  ye  see  my  white  plume  shine  amidst  the  ranks  of  war, 
And  be  your  oriflamme  to-day  the  helmet  of  Navarre." 

Kodney  sat  in  the  full  light  now,  and  I  secretly 
triumphed  in  his  rapt  attention. 

"Something  else,  Jeannette,"  I  said,  in  the  pride 
of  my  heart.  Instead  of  repeating  anything  I  had 
taught  her,  she  began  in  French:  — 

"  *  Marie,  enfin  quitte  1'ouvrage, 
Voici  1'etoile  du  berger.' 
—  '  Ma  mere,  un  enfant  du  village 
Languit  captif  chez  1'etranger  ; 
Pris  sur  mer,  loin  de  sa  patrie, 
II  s'est  rendu,  —  mais  le  dernier.' 

File,  file,  pauvre  Marie, 

Pour  secourir  le  prisormier  ; 

File,  file,  pauvre  Marie, 

File,  file,  pour  le  prisonnier. 

"  '  Pour  lui  je  filerais  moi-meme 
Mon  enfant,  —  mais  — j'ai  tant  vieilli ! ' 


152  JEANNETTE. 

—  '  Envoyez  a  celui  que  j'aime 
Tout  le  gain  par  moi  recueilli. 
Rose  a  sa  noce  en  vain  me  prie  ; — 
Dieu  !  j 'en tends  le  menetrier  ! ' 

File,  file,  pauvre  Marie, 
Pour  secourir  le  prisonnier ; 
File,  file,  pauvre  Marie, 
File,  file,  pour  le  prisonnier. 

"  '  Plus  pres  du  feu  file,  ma  chere  ; 
La  nuit  vient  refroidir  le  temps.' 

—  '  Adrien,  m'a-t-on  dit,  ma  mere, 
Gemit  dans  des  cachots  flottants. 
On  repousse  la  main  fletrie 

Qu'il  etend  vers  un  pain  grossier.' 
File,  file,  pauvre  Marie, 
Pour  secourir  le  prisonnier  ; 
File,  file,  pauvre  Marie, 
File,  file,  pour  le  prisonnier."  * 

Jeannette  repeated  these  lines  with  a  pathos  so 
real  that  I  felt  a  moisture  rising  in  my  eyes. 

"Where  did  you  learn  that,  child?"  I  asked. 

"Father  Piret,  madame." 

"What  is  it?" 

"Jen9  sais." 

"It  is  Beranger,— -'The  Prisoner  of  War/"  said 
Rodney  Prescott.  "But  you  omitted  the  last  verse, 
mademoiselle ;  may  I  ask  why  ?  " 

"More  sad  so,"  answered  Jeannette.  "Marie  she 
die  now." 

*  "  Le  Prisonnier  de  Guerre,"  Beranger. 


JEANNETTE.  153 

"You  wish  her  to  die?" 

"Mais  oui:   she  die  for  love;   c'est  beau!" 

And  there  flashed  a  glance  from  the  girl's  eyes  that 
thrilled  through  me,  I  scarcely  knew  why.  I  looked 
toward  Kodney,  but  he  was  back  in  the  shadow  again. 

The  hours  passed.  "I  must  go/'  said  Jeannette, 
drawing  aside  the  curtain.  Clouds  were  still  driving 
across  the  sky,  but  the  snow  had  ceased  falling,  and 
at  intervals  the  moon  shone  out  over  the  cold  white 
scene;  the  March  wind  continued  on  its  wild  career 
toward  the  south. 

"I  will  send  for  Antoine,"  I  said,  rising,  as  Jean 
nette  took  up  her  fur  mantle. 

"The  old  man  is  sick  to-day,"  said  Eodney.  "It 
would  not  be  safe  for  him  to  leave  the  fire  to-night. 
I  will  accompany  mademoiselle." 

Pretty  Jeannette  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "Mais, 
monsieur"  she  answered,  "I  go  over  the  hill." 

"No,  child;  not  to-night,"  I  said  decidedly.  "The 
wind  is  violent,  and  the  cliff  doubly  slippery  after  this 
ice-storm.  Go  round  through  the  village." 

"Of  course  we  shall  go  through  the  village,"  said 
our  surgeon,  in  his  calm,  authoritative  way.  They 
started.  But  in  another  minute  I  saw  Jeannette  fly 
by  the  west  window,  over  the  wall,  and  across  the 
snowy  road,  like  a  spirit,  disappearing  down  the  steep 
bank,  now  slippery  with  glare  ice.  Another  minute, 
and  Eodney  Prescott  followed  in  her  track. 


154  JE  ANNETTE. 

With  bated  breath  I  watched  for  the  reappearance 
of  the  two  figures  on  the  white  plain,  one  hundred  and 
fifty  feet  below;  the  cliff  was  difficult  at  any  time, 
and  now  in  this  ice  !  The  moments  seemed  very  long, 
and,  alarmed,  I  was  on  the  point  of  arousing  the  gar 
rison,  when  I  spied  the  two  dark  figures  on  the  snowy 
plain  below,  now  clear  in  the  moonlight,  now  lost  in 
the  shadow.  I  watched  them  for  some  distance ;  then 
a  cloud  came,  and  I  lost  them  entirely. 

Eodney  did  not  return,  although  I  sat  late  before 
the  dying  fire.  Thinking  over  the  evening,  the  idea 
came  to  me  that  perhaps,  after  all,  he  did  admire  my 
protegee,  and,  being  a  romantic  old  woman,  I  did  not 
repel  the  fancy ;  it  might  go  a  certain  distance  without 
harm,  and  an  idyl  is  always  charming,  doubly  so  to 
people  cast  away  on  a  desert  island.  One  falls  into 
the  habit  of  studying  persons  very  closely  in  the  lim 
ited  circle  of  garrison  life. 

But,  the  next  morning,  the  Major's  wife  gave  me  an 
account  of  the  sociable.  "It  was  very  pleasant,"  she 
said.  "Toward  the  last  Dr.  Prescott  came  in,  quite 
unexpectedly.  I  had  no  idea  he  could  be  so  agreeable. 
Augusta  can  tell  you  how  charming  he  was  ! " 

Augusta,  a  young  lady  cousin,  of  pale  blond  com 
plexion,  neutral  opinions,  and  irreproachable  manners, 
smiled  primly.  My  idyl  was  crushed  ! 

The  days  passed.  The  winds,  the  snows,  and  the 
high-up  fort  remained  the  same.  Jeannette  came  and 


JEANNETTE.  155 

went,  and  the  hour  lengthened  into  two  or  three ;  not 
that  we  read  much,  but  we  talked  more.  Our  surgeon 
did  not  again  pass  through  the  parlor ;  he  had  ordered 
a  rickety  stairway  on  the  outside  wall  to  be  repaired, 
and  we  could  hear  him  going  up  and  down  its  icy  steps 
as  we  sat  by  the  hearth-fire.  One  day  I  said  to  him, 
"  My  protegee  is  improving  wonderfully.  If  she  could 
have  a  complete  education,  she  might  take  her  place 
with  the  best  in  the  land." 

"Do  not  deceive  yourself,  Mrs.  Corlyne,"  he  an 
swered.  "It  is  only  the  shallow  French  quickness." 

"Why  do  you  always  judge  the  child  so  harshly, 
Doctor  ? " 

"  Do  you  take  her  part,  Aunt  Sarah  ?  "  (For  some 
times  he  used  the  title  which  Archie  had  made  so 
familiar.) 

"  Of  course  I  do,  Eodney.  A  poor,  unfriended  girl 
living  in  this  remote  place,  against  a  United  States 
surgeon  with  the  best  of  Boston  behind  him." 

"I  wish  you  would  tell  me  that  every  day,  Aunt 
Sarah,"  was  the  reply  I  received.  It  set  me  musing, 
but  I  could  make  nothing  of  it.  Troubled  without 
knowing  why,  I  suggested  to  Archie  that  he  should 
endeavor  to  interest  our  surgeon  in  the  fort  gayety; 
there  was  something  for  every  night  in  the  merry  little 
circle,  —  games,  suppers,  tableaux,  music,  theatricals, 
readings,  and  the  like. 

"  Why,  he 's  in  the  thick  of  it  already,  Aunt  Sarah," 


156  JEANNETTE. 

said  my  nephew.  "  He 's  devoting  himself  to  Miss 
Augusta ;  she  sings  '  The  Harp  that  once  — '  to  him 
every  night." 

("  The  Harp  that  once  through  Tara's  Halls  "  was 
Miss  Augusta's  dress-parade  song.  The  Major's  quar 
ters  not  being  as  large  as  the  halls  aforesaid,  the 
melody  was  somewhat  overpowering.) 

"  O,  does  she  ? "  I  thought,  not  without  a  shade  of 
vexation.  But  the  vague  anxiety  vanished. 

The  real  spring  came  at  last,  —  the  rapid,  vivid 
spring  of  Mackinac.  Almost  in  a  day  the  ice  moved 
out,  the  snows  melted,  and  the  northern  wild-flowers 
appeared  in  the  sheltered  glens.  Lessons  were  at  an 
end,  for  my  scholar  was  away  in  the  green  woods. 
Sometimes  she  brought  me  a  bunch  of  flowers;  but  I 
seldom  saw  her ;  my  wild  bird  had  flown  back  to  the 
forest.  When  the  ground  was  dry  and  the  pine  drop 
pings  warmed  by  the  sun,  I,  too,  ventured  abroad. 
One  day,  wandering  as  far  as  the  Arched  Eock,  I  found 
the  surgeon  there,  and  together  we  sat  down  to  rest 
under  the  trees,  looking  off  over  the  blue  water  flecked 
with  white  caps.  The  Arch  is  a  natural  bridge  over  a 
chasm  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  above  the  lake,  —  a 
fissure  in  the  cliff  which  has  fallen  away  in  a  hollow, 
leaving  the  bridge  by  itself  far  out  over  the  water. 
Tliis  bridge  springs  upward  in  the  shape  of  an  arch  ;  it 
is  fifty  feet  long,  and  its  width  is  in  some  places  two 
feet,  in  others  only  a  few  inches,  —  a  narrow,  dizzy 
pathway  hanging  between  sky  and  water. 


JEANNETTE.  157 

"  People  have  crossed  it,"  I  said. 

"  Only  fools,"  answered  our  surgeon,  who  despised 
foolhardiness.  "  Has  a  man  nothing  better  to  do  with 
his  life  than  risk  it  for  the  sake  of  a  silly  feat  like 
that  ?  I  would  not  so  much  as  raise  my  eyes  to  see 
any  one  cross." 

"  O  yes,  you  would,  Monsieur  Rodenai,"  cried  a  voice 
behind  us.  We  both  turned  and  caught  a  glimpse  of 
Jeannette  as  she  bounded  through  the  bushes  and  out 
to  the  very  centre  of  the  Arch,  where  she  stood  balan 
cing  herself  and  laughing  gayly.  Her  form  was  outlined 
against  the  sky  ;  the  breeze  swayed  her  skirt ;  she 
seemed  hovering  over  the  chasm.  I  watched  her,  mute 
with  fear ;  a  word  might  cause  her  to  lose  her  balance  ; 
but  I  could  not  turn  my  eyes  away,  I  was  fascinated 
with  the  sight.  I  was  not  aware  that  Rodney  had  left 
me  until  he,  too,  appeared  on  the  Arch,  slowly  finding 
a  foothold  for  himself  and  advancing  toward  the  centre. 
A  fragment  of  the  rock  broke  off  under  his  foot  and  fell 
into  the  abyss  below. 

"  Go  back,  Monsieur  Rodenai,"  cried  Jeannette,  see 
ing  his  danger. 

"  Will  you  come  back  too,  Jeannette  ?  " 

"  Mai  ?  C'est  aut'  chose!'  answered  the  girl,  gayly 
tossing  her  pretty  head. 

"  Then  I  shall  come  out  and  carry  you  back,  wilful 
child,"  said  the  surgeon. 

A  peal  of  laughter  broke  from  Jeannette  as  he  spoke, 


158  JEANNETTE. 

and  then  she  began  to  dance  on  her  point  of  rock, 
swinging  herself  from  side  to  side,  marking  the  time 
with  a  song.  I  held  my  breath;  her  dance  seemed 
unearthly ;  it  was  as  though  she  belonged  to  the  Prince 
of  the  Powers  of  the  Air. 

At  length  the  surgeon  reached  the  centre  and  caught 
the  mocking  creature'  in  his  arms :  neither  spoke,  but 
I  could  see  the  flash  of  their  eyes  as  they  stood  for 
an  instant  motionless.  Then  they  struggled  on  the 
narrow  foothold  and  swayed  over  so  far  that  I  buried 
my  face  in  my  trembling  hands,  unable  to  look  at  the 
dreadful  end.  When  I  opened  my  eyes  again  all  was 
still;  the  Arch  was  tenantless,  and  no  sound  came 
from  below.  Were  they,  then,  so  soon  dead  ?  With 
out  a  cry  ?  I  forced  myself  to  the  brink  to  look  down 
over  the  precipice ;  but  while  I  stood  there,  fearing  to 
look,  I  heard  a  sound  behind  me  in  the  woods.  It  was 
Jeannette  singing  a  gay  French  song.  I  called  to  her 
to  stop.  "  How  could  you  ? "  I  said  severely,  for  I  was 
still  trembling  with  agitation. 

"  Ce  n'est  rien,  madame.  I  cross  1'Arche  when  I  had 
five  year.  Mais,  Monsieur  Eodenai  le  Grand,  he  raise 
his  eye  to  look  this  time,  I  think,"  said  Jeannette, 
laughing  triumphantly. 

"  Where  is  he  ? " 

"On  the  far  side,  gone  on  to  Scott's  Pic  [Peak]. 
F&occ,  0  feroce,  comme  un  loupgarou  !  Ah  !  c'est  joli, 
fa  !  "  And,  overflowing  with  the  wildest  glee,  the  girl 


JEANNETTE.  159 

danced  along  through  the  woods  in  front  of  me,  now 
pausing  to  look  at  something  in  her  hand,  now  laugh 
ing,  now  shouting  like  a  wild  creature,  until  I  lost 
sight  of  her.  I  went  back  to  the  fort  alone. 

For  several  days  I  saw  nothing  of  Kodney.  When 
at  last  we  met,  I  said,  "  That  was  a  wild  freak  of  Jean- 
nette's  at  the  Arch." 

"  Planned,  to  get  a  few  shillings  out  of  us." 
"  0  Doctor  !     I  do  not  think  she  had  any  such  mo 
tive,"  I  replied,  looking  up  deprecatingly  into  his  cold, 
scornful  eyes. 

"  Are  you  not  a  little  sentimental  over  that  ignorant, 
half- wild  creature,  Aunt  Sarah  ? " 

"  Well,"  I  said  to  myself,  "  perhaps  I  am ! " 
The  summer  came,  sails  whitened  the  blue  straits 
again,  steamers  stopped  for  an  hour  or  two  at  the 
island  docks,  and  the  summer  travellers  rushed  ashore 
to  buy  "  Indian  curiosities,"  made  by  the  nuns  in  Mon 
treal,  or  to  climb  breathlessly  up  the  steep  fort-hill  to 
see  the  pride  and  panoply  of  war.  Proud  was  the 
little  white  fort  in  those  summer  days ;  the  sentinels 
held  themselves  stiffly  erect,  the  officers  gave  up  lying 
on  the  parapet  half  asleep,  the  best  flag  was  hoisted 
daily,  and  there  was  much  bugle-playing  and  ceremony 
connected  with  the  evening  gun,  fired  from  the  ram 
parts  at  sunset;  the  hotels  were  full,  the  boarding- 
house  keepers  were  in  their  annual  state  of  wonder 
over  the  singular  taste  of  these  people  from  "  below," 


160  JEANNETTE. 

who  actually  preferred  a  miserable  white-fish  to  the 
best  of  beef  brought  up  on  ice  all  the  way  from  Buf 
falo  !  There  were  picnics  and  walks,  and  much  con 
fusion  of  historical  dates  respecting  Father  Marquette 
and  the  irrepressible,  omnipresent  Pontiac.  The  fort 
officers  did  much  escort  duty;  their  buttons  gilded 
every  scene.  Our  quiet  surgeon  was  foremost  in  ev 
erything. 

"  I  am  surprised !  I  had  no  idea  Dr.  Prescott  was 
so  gay,"  said  the  Major's  wife. 

"  I  should  not  think  of  calling  him  gay,"  I  answered. 

"  Why,  my  dear  Mrs.  Corlyne  !  He  is  going  all  the 
time.  Just  ask  Augusta." 

Augusta  thereupon  remarked  that  society,  to  a  cer 
tain  extent,  was  beneficial;  that  she  considered  Dr. 
Prescott  much  improved ;  really,  he  was  now  very 
"  nice." 

I  silently  protested  against  the  word.  But  then  I 
was  not  a  Bostonian. 

One  bright  afternoon  I  went  through  the  village, 
round  the  point  into  the  French  quarter,  in  search  of  a 
laundress.  The  fishermen's  cottages  faced  the  west; 
they  were  low  and  wide,  not  unlike  scows  drifted 
ashore  and  moored  on  the  beach  for  houses.  The  lit 
tle  windows  had  gay  curtains  fluttering  in  the  breeze, 
and  the  rooms  within  looked  clean  and  cheery;  the 
rough  walls  were  adorned  with  the  spoils  of  the  fresh 
water  seas,  shells,  green  stones,  agates,  spar,  and  curi- 


JEANNETTE.  161 

ously  shaped  pebbles ;  occasionally  there  was  a  stuffed 
water-bird,  or  a  bright-colored  print,  and  always  a 
violin.  Black-eyed  children  played  in  the  water  which 
bordered  their  narrow  beach-gardens;  and  slender 
women,  with  shining  black  hair,  stood  in  their  door 
ways  knitting.  I  found  my  laundress,  and  then  went 
on  to  Jeannette's  home,  the  last  house  in  the  row. 
From  the  mother,  a  Chippewa  woman,  I  learned  that 
Jeanne tte  was  with  her  French  father  at  the  fishing- 
grounds  off  Drummond's  Island. 

"  How  long  has  she  been  away  ? "  I  asked. 

"  Veeks  four,"  replied  the  mother,  whose  knowledge 
of  English  was  confined  to  the  price-list  of  white-fish 
and  blueberries,  the  two  articles  of  her  traffic  with  the 
boarding-house  keepers. 

"  When  will  she  return  ? " 

"Jen'  sais." 

She  knitted  on,  sitting  in  the  sunshine  on  her  little 
doorstep,  looking  out  over  the  western  water  with 
tranquil  content  in  her  beautiful,  gentle  eyes.  As  I 
walked  up  the  beach  I  glanced  back  several  times  to 
see  if  she  had  the  curiosity  to  watch  me ;  but  no,  she 
still  looked  out  over  the  western  water.  What  was  I 
to  her  ?  Less  than  nothing.  A  white-fish  was  more. 

A  week  or  two  later  I  strolled  out  to  the  Giant's 
Stairway  and  sat  down  in  the  little  rock  chapel. 
There  was  a  picnic  at  the  Lovers'  Leap,  and  I  had 

that  side  of  the  island  to  myself.     I  was  leaning  back, 
11 


162  JEANNETTE. 

half  asleep,  in  the  deep  shadow,  when  the  sound  of 
voices  roused  me;  a  birch-bark  canoe  was  passing 
close  in  shore,  and  two  were  in  it,  —  Jeannette  and  our 
surgeon.  I  could  not  hear  their  words,  but  I  noticed 
Bodney's  expression  as  he  leaned  forward.  Jeannette 
was  paddling  slowly  ;  her  cheeks  were  flushed,  and  her 
eyes  brilliant.  Another  moment,  and  a  point  hid  them 
from  my  view.  I  went  home  troubled. 

"  Did  you  enjoy  the  picnic,  Miss  Augusta  ? "  I  said, 
with  assumed  carelessness,  that  evening.  "  Dr.  Pres- 
cott  was  there,  as  usual,  I  suppose  ? " 

"  He  was  not  present,  but  the  picnic  was  highly  en 
joyable,"  replied  Miss  Augusta,  in  her  even  voice  and 
impartial  manner. 

"  The  Doctor  has  not  been  with  us  for  some  days," 
said  the  major's  wife,  archly ;  "  I  suspect  he  does  not 
like  Mr.  Piper." 

Mr.  Piper  was  a  portly  widower,  of  sanguine  com 
plexion,  a  Chicago  produce-dealer,  who  was  supposed 
to  admire  Miss  Augusta,  and  was  now  going  through 
a  course  of  "  The  Harp  that  once." 

The  last  days  of  summer  flew  swiftly  by ;  the  sur 
geon  held  himself  aloof ;  we  scarcely  saw  him  in  the 
garrison  circles,  and  I  no  longer  met  him  in  my 
rambles. 

"  Jealousy  ! "  said  the  major's  wife. 

September  came.  The  summer  visitors  fled  away 
homeward;  the  remaining  "Indian  curiosities"  were 


JEANNETTE.  163 

Stored  away  for  another  season ;  the  hotels  were  closed, 
and  the  forests  deserted ;  the  bluebells  swung  unmo 
lested  on  their  heights,  and  the  plump  Indian-pipes 
grew  in  peace  in  their  dark  corners.  The  little  white 
fort,  too,  began  to  assume  its  winter  manners ;  the 
storm-flag  was  hoisted ;  there  were  evening  fires  upon 
the  broad  hearth-stones ;  the  chaplain,  having  finished 
everything  about  Balak,  his  seven  altars  and  seven 
rams,  was  ready  for  chess-problems ;  books  and  papers 
were  ordered;  stores  laid  in,  and  anxiousv  inquiries 
made  as  to  the  "  habits "  of  the  new  mail-carrier,  — 
for  the  mail-carrier  was  the  hero  of  the  winter,  and 
if  his  "  habits  "  led  him  to  whiskey,  there  was  danger 
that  our  precious  letters  might  be  dropped  all  along 
the  northern  curve  of  Lake  Huron. 

Upon  this  quiet  matter-of-course  preparation,  sud 
denly,  like  a  thunderbolt  from  a  clear  sky,  came  or 
ders  to  leave.  The  whole  garrison,  officers  and  men, 
were  ordered  to  Florida. 

In  a  moment  all  was  desolation.  It  was  like  being 
ordered  into  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of  Death. 
Dense  everglades,  swamp-fevers,  malaria  in  the  air, 
poisonous  underbrush,  and  venomous  reptiles  and  in 
sects,  and  now  and  then  a  wily  unseen  foe  picking  off 
the  men,  one  by  one,  as  they  painfully  cut  out  roads 
through  the  thickets,  —  these  were  the  features  of  mil 
itary  life  in  Florida  at  that  period.  Men  who  would 
have  marched  boldly  to  the  cannon's  mouth,  officers 


164  JEANNETTE. 

who  would  have  headed  a  forlorn  hope,  shrank  from 
the  deadly  swamps. 

Families  must  be  broken  up,  also;  no  women,  no 
children,  could  go  to  Florida.  There  were  tears  and 
the  sound  of  sobbing  in  the  little  white  fort,  as  the 
poor  wives,  all  young  mothers,  hastily  packed  their 
few  possessions  to  go  back  to  their  fathers'  houses, 
fortunate  if  they  had  fathers  to  receive  them.  The 
husbands  went  about  in  silence,  too  sad  for  words. 
Archie  kept  up  the  best  courage;  but  he  was  young, 
and  had  no  one  to  leave  save  me. 

The  evening  of  the  fatal  day  —  for  the  orders  had 
come  in  the  early  dawn  —  I  was  alone  in  my  little 
parlor,  already  bare  and  desolate  with  packing-cases. 
The  wind  had  been  rising  since  morning,  and  now 
blew  furiously  from  the  west.  Suddenly  the  door 
burst  open  and  the  surgeon  entered.  I  was  shocked 
at  his  appearance,  as,  pale,  haggard,  with  disordered 
hair  and  clothing,  he  sank  into  a  chair,  and  looked  at 
me  in  silence. 

"  Eodney,  what  is  it  ? "  I  said. 

He  did  not  answer,  but  still  looked  at  me  with  that 
strange  gaze.  Alarmed,  I  rose  and  went  toward  him, 
laying  my  hand  on  his  shoulder  with  a  motherly  touch. 
I  loved  the  quiet,  gray-eyed  youth  next  after  Archie. 

"  What  is  it,  my  poor  boy  ?     Can  I  help  you  ?  " 

"O  Aunt  Sarah,  perhaps  you  can,  for  you  know  her." 

"  Her  ? "  I  repeated,  with  sinking  heart. 


JEANNETTE.  165 

"  Yes.     Jeannette." 

I  sat  down  and  folded  my  hands ;  trouble  had  come, 
but  it  was  not  what  I  apprehended,  —  the  old  story  of 
military  life,  love,  and  desertion ;  the  ever-present  bal 
lad  of  the  "gay  young  knight  who  loves  and  rides 
away."  This  was  something  different. 

"  I  love  her,  —  I  love  her  madly,  in  spite  of  myself," 
said  Rodney,  pouring  forth  his  words  with  feverish 
rapidity.  "  I  know  it  is  an  infatuation,  I  know  it  is 
utterly  unreasonable,  and  yet  —  I  love  her.  I  have 
striven  against  it,  I  have  fought  with  myself,  I  have 
written  out  elaborate  arguments  wherein  I  have  clearly 
demonstrated  the  folly  of  such  an  affection,  and  I  have 
compelled  myself  to  read  them  over  slowly,  word  for 
word,  when  alone  in  my  own  room,  and  yet  —  I  love 
her  !  Ignorant,  I  know  she  would  shame  me ;  shal 
low,  I  know  she  could  not  satisfy  me ;  as  a  wife  she 
would  inevitably  drag  me  down  to  misery,  and  yet  —  I 
love  her  !  I  had  not  been  on  the  island  a  week  before 
I  saw  her,  and  marked  her  beauty.  Months  before 
you  invited  her  to  the  fort  I  had  become  infatuated 
with  her  singular  loveliness ;  but,  in  some  respects, 
a  race  of  the  blood-royal  could  not  be  prouder  than 
these  French  fishermen.  They  will  accept  your  money, 
they  will  cheat  you,  they  will  tell  you  lies  for  an  extra 
shilling ;  but  make  one  step  toward  a  simple  acquaint 
ance,  and  the  door  will  be  shut  in  your  face.  They 
will  bow  down  before  you  as  a  customer,  but  they  will 


166  JEANNETTE. 

not  have  you  for  a  friend.  Thus  I  found  it  impossible 
to  reach  Jeannette.  I  do  not  say  that  I  tried,  for  all 
the  time  I  was  fighting  myself;  but  I  went  far  enough 
to  see  the  barriers.  It  seemed  a  fatality  that  you 
should  take  a  fancy  to  her,  have  her  here,  and  ask  me 
to  admire  her,  —  admire  the  face  that  haunted  me  by 
day  and  by  night,  driving  me  mad  with  its  beauty. 

"  I  realized  my  danger,  and  called  to  my  aid  all  the 
pride  of  my  race.  I  said  to  my  heart,  '  You  shall  not 
love  this  ignorant  half-breed  girl  to  your  ruin.'  I  rea 
soned  with  myself,  and  said,  '  It  is  only  because  you 
are  isolated  on  this  far-away  island.  Could  you  pre 
sent  this  girl  to  your  mother  ?  Could  she  be  a  com 
panion  for  your  sisters?'  I  was  beginning  to  gain 
a  firmer  control  over  myself,  in  spite  of  her  presence, 
when  you  unfolded  your  plan  of  education.  Fatality 
again.  Instantly  a  crowd  of  hopes  surged  up.  The 
education  you  began,  could  I  not  finish  ?  She  was  but 
young ;  a  few  years  of  careful  teaching  might  work 
wonders.  Could  I  not  train  this  forest  flower  so  that 
it  could  take  its  place  in  the  garden?  But,  when  I 
actually  saw  this  full-grown  woman  unable  to  add  the 
simplest  sum  or  write  her  name  correctly,  I  was  again 
ashamed  of  my  infatuation.  It  is  one  thing  to  talk 
of  ignorance,  it  is  another  to  come  face  to  face  with  it. 
Thus  I  wavered,  at  one  moment  ready  to  give  up  all 
for  pride,  at  another  to  give  up  all  for  love. 

".Then  came  the  malicious  suggestion  of  negro  blood. 


JE  ANNETTE.  167 

Could  it  be  proved,  I  was  free ;  that  taint  I  could  not 
pardon.  [And  here,  even  as  the  surgeon  spoke,  I 
noticed  this  as  the  peculiarity  of  the  New  England 
Abolitionist.  Theoretically  he  believed  in  the  equality 
of  the  enslaved  race,  and  stood  ready  to  maintain  the 
belief  with  his  life,  but  practically  he  held  himself 
entirely  aloof  from  them;  the  Southern  creed  and 
practice  were  the  exact  reverse.]  I  made  inquiries 
of  Father  Piret,  who  knows  the  mixed  genealogy  of 
the  little  French  colony  as  far  back  as  the  first  voya- 
geurs  of  the  fur  trade,  and  found  —  as  I,  shall  I  say 
hoped  or  feared?  —  that  the  insinuation  was  utterly 
false.  Thus  I  was  thrown  back  into  the  old  tumult. 
"  Then  came  that  evening  in  this  parlor  when  Jean- 
nette  made  the  coffee  and  baked  little  cakes  over  the 
coals.  Do  you  remember  the  pathos  with  which  she 
chanted  File,  file,  pauvre  Marie;  File,  file,  pour  le 
prisonnier  ?  Do  you  remember  how  she  looked  when 
she  repeated  '  Ivry '  ?  Did  that  tender  pity,  that  ring 
ing  inspiration,  come  from  a  dull  mind  and  shallow 
heart  ?  I  was  avenged  of  my  enforced  disdain,  my 
love  gave  itself  up  to  delicious  hope.  She  was  capable 
of  education,  and  then-—!  I  made  a  pretext  of  old 
Antoine's  cough  in  order  to  gain  an  opportunity  of 
speaking  to  her  alone ;  but  she  was  like  a  thing  pos 
sessed,  she  broke  from  me  and  sprang  over  the  icy 
cliff,  her  laugh  coining  back  on  the  wind  as  I  followed 
her  down  the  dangerous  slope.  On  she  rushed,  jump- 


168  JEANNETTE. 

ing  from  rock  to  rock,  waving  her  hand  in  wild  glee 
when  the  moon  shone  out,  singing  and  shouting  with 
merry  scorn  at  my  desperate  efforts  to  reach  her.  It 
was  a  mad  chase,  but  only  on  the  plain  below  could 
I  come  up  with  her.  There,  breathless  and  eager,  I 
unfolded  to  her  nay  plan  of  education.  I  only  went 
so  far  as  this :  I  was  willing  to  send  her  to  school, 
to  give  her  opportunities  of  seeing  the  world,  to  pro 
vide  for  her  whole  future.  I  left  the  story  of  my  love 
to  come  afterward.  She  laughed  me  to  scorn.  As 
well  talk  of  education  to  the  bird  of  the  wilderness ! 
She  rejected  my  offers,  picked  up  snow  to  throw  in 
my  face,  covered  me  with  her  French  sarcasms,  danced 
around  me  in  circles,  laughed,  and  mocked,  until  I  was 
at  a  loss  to  know  whether  she  was  human.  Finally, 
as  a  shadow  darkened  the  moon,  she  fled  away ;  and 
when  it  passed  she  was  gone,  and  I  was  alone  on  the 
snowy  plain. 

"  Angry,  fierce,  filled  with  scorn  for  myself,  I  deter 
mined  resolutely  to  crush  out  my  senseless  infatuation. 
I  threw  myself  into  such  society  as  we  had ;  I  assumed 
an  interest  in  that  inane  Miss  Augusta;  I  read  and 
studied  far  into  the  night ;  I  walked  until  sheer  fatigue 
gave  me  tranquillity ;  but  all  I  gained  was  lost  in  that 
encounter  at  the  Arch:  you  remember  it?  When  I 
saw  her  on  that  narrow  bridge,  my  love  burst  its  bonds 
again,  and,  senseless  as  ever,  rushed  to  save  her,  —  to 
save  her,  poised  on  her  native  rocks,  where  every  inch 


JEANNETTE.  169 

was  familiar  from  childhood  !  To  save  her,  —  sure 
footed  and  light  as  a  bird !  I  caught  her.  She  strug 
gled  in  my  arms,  angrily,  as  an  imprisoned  animal 
might  struggle,  but  —  so  beautiful !  The  impulse  came 
to  me  to  spring  with  her  into  the  gulf  below,  and  so 
end  the  contest  forever.  I  might  have  done  it,  —  I 
cannot  tell,  —  but,  suddenly,  she  wrenched  herself  out 
of  my  arms  and  fled  over  the  Arch,  to  the  farther  side. 
I  followed,  trembling,  blinded,  with  the  violence  of  my 
emotion.  At  that  moment  I  was  ready  to  give  up  my 
life,  my  soul,  into  her  hands. 

"  In  the  woods  beyond  she  paused,  glanced  over  her 
shoulder  toward  me,  then  turned  eagerly.  '  Voild'  she 
said,  pointing.  I  looked  down  and  saw  several  silver 
pieces  that  had  dropped  from  my  pocket  as  I  sprang 
over  the  rocks,  and,  with  an  impatient  gesture,  I  thrust 
them  aside  with  my  foot. 

"'Nonj  she  cried,  turning  toward  me  and  stooping 
eagerly,  — '  so  much  !  0,  so  much  !  See  !  four  shil 
lings  ! '  Her  eyes  glistened  with  longing  as  she  held 
the  money  in  her  hand  and  fingered  each  piece  lov 
ingly. 

"The  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling  produced  by  her 
words  and  gesture  filled  me  with  fury.  '  Keep  it,  and 
buy  yourself  a  soul  if  you  can ! '  I  cried ;  and  turning 
away,  I  left  her  with  her  gains. 

" '  Merci,  monsieur,'  she  answered  gayly,  all  unmind 
ful  of  my  scorn ;  and  off  she  ran,  holding  her  treasure 


170  JEANNETTE. 

tightly  clasped  in  both  hands.  I  could  hear  her  sing 
ing  far  down  the  path. 

"  It  is  a  bitter  thing  to  feel  a  scorn  for  yourself ! 
Did  I  love  this  girl  who  stooped  to  gather  a  few  shil 
lings  from  under  my  feet  ?  Was  it,  then,  impossible 
for  me  to  conquer  this  ignoble  passion  ?  No  ;  it  could 
not  and  it  should  not  be !  I  plunged  again  into  all 
the  gayety;  I  left  myself  not  one  free  moment;  if 
sleep  came  not,  I  forced  it  to  come  with  opiates; 
Jeannette  had  gone  to  the  fishing-grounds,  the  weeks 
passed,  I  did  not  see  her.  I  had  made  the  hardest 
struggle  of  all,  and  was  beginning  to  recover  my  self- 
respect  when,  one  day,  I  met  her  in  the  woods  with 
some  children ;  she  had  returned  to  gather  blueberries. 
I  looked  at  her.  She  was  more  gentle  than  usual,  and 
smiled.  Suddenly,  as  an  embankment  which  has  with 
stood  the  storms  of  many  winters  gives  way  at  last  in 
a  calm  summer  night,  I  yielded.  Without  one  outward 
sign,  I  laid  down  my  arms.  Myself  knew  that  the 
contest  was  over,  and  my  other  self  rushed  to  her  feet. 

"  Since  then  I  have  often  seen  her ;  I  have  made 
plan  after  plan  to  meet  her;  I  have  —  0  degrading 
thought !  —  paid  her  to  take  me  out  in  her  canoe,  under 
the  pretence  of  fishing.  I  no  longer  looked  forward; 
I  lived  only  in  the  present,  and  thought  only  of  when 
and  where  I  could  see  her.  Thus  it  has  been  until  this 
morning,  when  the  orders  came.  Now,  I  am  brought 
face  to  face  with  reality ;  I  must  go ;  can  I  leave  her 


JEANNETTE.  171 

behind  ?  For  hours  I  have  been  wandering  in  the 
woods.  Aunt  Sarah,  —  it  is  of  no  use,  —  I  cannot  live 
without  her ;  I  must  marry  her." 

"  Marry  Jeannette  ! "  I  exclaimed. 

"Even  so." 

"  An  ignorant  half-breed  ? " 

"  As  you  say,  an  ignorant  half-breed." 

"  You  are  mad,  Eodney." 

"  I  know  it." 

I  will  not  repeat  all  I  said ;  but,  at  last,  silenced,  if 
not  convinced,  by  the  power  of  this  great  love,  I  started 
with  him  out  into  the  wild  night  to  seek  Jeannette. 
We  went  through  the  village  and  round  the  point, 
where  the  wind  met  us,  and  the  waves  broke  at  our 
feet  with  a  roar.  Passing  the  row  of  cabins,  with  their 
twinkling  lights,  we  reached  the  home  of  Jeannette 
and  knocked  at  the  low  door.  The  Indian  mother 
opened  it.  I  entered,  without  a  word,  and  took  a  seat 
near  the  hearth,  where  a  drift-wood  fire  was  burning. 
Jeannette  came  forward  with  a  surprised  look.  "  You 
little  think  what  good  fortune  is  coming  to  you,  child," 
I  thought,  as  I  noted  her  coarse  dress  and  the  poor 
furniture  of  the  little  room. 

Rodney  burst  at  once  into  his  subject. 

"Jeannette,"  he  said,  going  toward  her,  "I  have  come 
to  take  you  away  with  me.  You  need  not  go  to  school ; 
I  have  given  up  that  idea,  —  I  accept  you  as  you 
are.  You  shall  have  silk  dresses  and  ribbons,  like  the 


172  JEANNETTE. 

ladies  at  the  Mission-House  this  summer.  You  shall 
see  all  the  great  cities,  you  shall  hear  beautiful  music. 
You  shall  have  everything  you  want,  —  money,  bright 
shillings,  as  many  as  you  wish.  See !  Mrs.  Corlyne 
has  come  with  me  to  show  you  that  it  is  true.  This 
morning  we  had  orders  to  leave  Mackinac;  in  a  few 
days  we  must  go.  But  —  listen,  Jeannette;  I  will 
marry  you.  You  shall  be  my  wife.  Do  not  look  so 
startled.  I  mean  it;  it  is  really  true." 

"  Qu'est-ce-yue-c'est  ? "  said  the  girl,  bewildered  by 
the  rapid,  eager  words. 

"  Dr.  Prescott  wishes  to  marry  you,  child,"  I  ex 
plained,  somewhat  sadly,  for  never  had  the  disparity 
between  them  seemed  so  great.  The  presence  of  the 
Indian  mother,  the  common  room,  were  like  silent 
protests. 

"  Marry ! "  ejaculated  Jeannette. 

"  Yes,  love,"  said  the  surgeon,  ardently.  "  It  is  quite 
true ;  you  shall  be  my  wife.  Father  Piret  shall  marry 
us.  I  will  exchange  into  another  regiment,  or,  if  ne 
cessary,  I  will  resign.  Do  you  understand  what  I  am 
saying,  Jeannette  ?  See !  I  give  you  my  hand,  in 
token  that  it  is  true." 

But,  with  a  quick  bound,  the  girl  was  across  the 
room.  "  What ! "  she  cried.  "  You  think  I  marry  you  ? 
Have  you  not  heard  of  Baptiste  ?  Know,  then,  that 
I  love  one  finger  of  him  more  than  all  you,  ten  times, 
hundred  times." 


JEANNETTE.  173 

"Baptiste?"  repeated  Eodney. 

"  Ouit  mon  cousin,  Baptiste,  the  fisherman.  We 
marry  soon  —  tenez  —  la  fete  de  Saint  Andre" 

Eodney  looked  bewildered  a  moment,  then  his  face 
cleared.  "  Oh  !  a  child  engagement  ?  That  is  one  of 
your  customs,  I  know.  But  never  fear;  Faljier  Piret 
will  absolve  you  from  all  that.  Baptiste  shall  have 
a  fine  new  boat ;  he  will  let  you  off  for  a  handful  of 
silver-pieces.  Do  not  think  of  that,  Jeannette,  but 
come  to  me  —  " 

"  Je  vous  abJiorre ;  je  vous  de*teste"  cried  the  girl 
with  fury  as  he  approached.  "  Baptiste  not  love  me  ? 
He  love  me  more  than  boat  and  silver  dollar,  —  more 
than  all  the  world !  And  I  love  him ;  I  die  for  him ! 
Allez-vous-en,  traitre  !  " 

Eodney  had  grown  white;  he  stood  before  her, 
motionless,  with  fixed  eyes. 

"  Jeannette,"  I  said  in  French,  "  perhaps  you  do  not 
understand.  Dr.  Prescott  asks  you  to  marry  him; 
Father  Piret  shall  marry  you,  and  all  your  friends 
shall  come.  Dr.  Prescott  will  take  you  away  from 
this  hard  life ;  he  will  make  you  rich ;  he  will  support 
your  father  and  mother  in  comfort.  My  child,  it  is 
wonderful  good  fortune.  He  is  an  educated  gentle 
man,  and  loves  you  truly." 

"  What  is  that  to  me  ? "  replied  Jeannette,  proudly. 
"Let  him  go,  I  care  not."  She  paused  a  moment. 
Then,  with  flashing  eyes,  she  cried,  "  Let  him  go  with 


174  JEANNETTE. 

his  fine  new  boat  and  silver  dollars !  He  does  not 
believe  me?  See,  then,  how  I  despise  him!"  And, 
rushing  forward,  she  struck ,  him  on  the  cheek. 

Eodney  did  not  stir,  but  stood  gazing  at  her  while 
the  red  mark  glowed  on  his  white  face. 

"  You  know  not  what  love  is,"  said  Jeannette,  with 
indescribable  scorn.  "  You !  You  !  Ah,  mon  Baptiste, 
ou  es-tu?  But  thou  wilt  kill  him,  —  kill  him  for  his 
boats  and  silver  dollars  ! " 

"  Child  ! "  I  said,  startled  by  her  fury. 

"  I  am  not  a  child.  Je  sit/is  femme,  moi  ! "  replied 
Jeannette,  folding  her  arms  with  haughty  grace. 
"  Allez ! "  she  said,  pointing  toward  the  door.  We 
were  dismissed.  A  queen  could  not  have  made  a 
more  royal  gesture. 

Throughout  the  scene  the  Indian  mother  had  not 
stopped  her  knitting. 

In  four  days  we  were  afloat,  and  the  little  white  fort 
was  deserted.  It  was  a  dark  afternoon,  and  we  sat 
clustered  on  the  stern  of  the  steamer,  watching  the  flag 
come  slowly  down  from  its  staff  in  token  of  the  de 
parture  of  the  commanding  officer.  "  Isle  of  Beauty, 
fare  thee  well,"  sang  the  major's  fair  young  wife,  with 
the  sound  of  tears  in  her  sweet  voice. 

"We  shall  return,"  said  the  officers.  But  not  one 
of  them  ever  saw  the  beautiful  island  again. 

Eodney  Prescott  served  a  month  or  two  in  Florida, 


JEANNETTE.  175 

"taciturn  and  stiff  as  ever,"  Archie  wrote.  Then  he 
resigned  suddenly,  and  went  abroad.  He  has  never 
returned,  and  I  have  lost  all  trace  of  him,  so  that  I 
cannot  say,  from  any  knowledge  of  my  own,  how  long 
the  feeling  lived,  —  the  feeling  that  swept  me  along  in 
its  train  down  to  the  beach- cottage  that  wild  night. 

Each  man  who  reads  this  can  decide  for  himself. 

Each  woman  has  decided  already. 

Last  year  I  met  an  islander  on  the  cars,  going  east 
ward.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  been  "be 
low  "  ;  but  he  saw  nothing  to  admire,  that  dignified 
citizen  of  Mackinac ! 

"  What  has  become  of  Jeannette  Leblanc  ? "  I 
asked. 

"  Jeannette  ?  0,  she  married  that  Baptiste,  a  lazy, 
good-for-nothing  fellow  !  They  live  in  the  same  little 
cabin  round  the  point,  and  pick  up  a  living  most  any 
how  for  their  tribe  of  young  ones." 

"Are  they  happy?" 

"  Happy  ? "  repeated  my  islander,  with  a  slow  stare. 
"Well,  I  suppose  they  are,  after  their  fashion;  I  don't 
know  much  about  them.  In  my  opinion,  they  are  a 
shiftless  set,  those  French  half-breeds  round  the  point." 


THE   OLD  AGENCY. 


"  The  buildings  of  the  United  States  Indian  Agency  on  the  island 
of  Mackinac  were  destroyed  by  fire  December  31,  at  midnight."  — 
Western  Newspaper  Item. 

THE  old  house  is  gone  then !  But  it  shall  not 
depart  into  oblivion  unchronicled.  One  who 
has  sat  under  its  roof-tree,  one  who  remembers  well 
its  rambling  rooms  and  wild  garden,  will  take  the 
pen  to  write  down  a  page  of  its  story.  It  is  only 
an  episode,  one  of  many ;  but  the  others  are  fading 
away,  or  already  buried  in  dead  memories  under  the 
sod.  It  was  a  quaint,  picturesque  old  place,  stretch 
ing  back  from  the  white  limestone  road  that  bor 
dered  the  little  port,  its  overgrown  garden  surrounded 
by  an  ancient  stockade  ten  feet  in  height,  with  a 
massive,  slow-swinging  gate  in  front,  defended  by 
loopholes.  This  stockade  bulged  out  in  some  places 
and  leaned  in  at  others ;  but  the  veteran  posts,  each 
a  tree  sharpened  to  a  point,  did  not  break  their  ranks, 
in  spite  of  decrepitude ;  and  the  Indian  warriors,  could 
they  have  returned  from  their  happy  hunting-grounds, 
would  have  found  the  brave  old  fence  of  the  Agency 


THE  OLD  AGENCY.  177 

a  sturdy  barrier  still.  But  the  Indian  warriors  could 
not  return.  The  United  States  agent  had  long  ago 
moved  to  Lake  Superior,  and  the  deserted  residence, 
having  only  a  mythical  owner,  left  without  repairs 
year  after  year,  and  under  a  cloud  of  confusion  as 
regarded  taxes,  titles,  and  boundaries,  became  a  sort 
of  flotsam  property,  used  by  various  persons,  but  be 
longing  legally  to  no  one.  Some  tenant,  tired  of 
swinging  the  great  gate  back  and  forth,  had  made  a 
little  sally  port  alongside,  but  otherwise  the  place 
remained  unaltered;  a  broad  garden  with  a  central 
avenue  of  cherry-trees,  on  each  side  dilapidated  ar 
bors,  overgrown  paths,  and  heart-shaped  beds,  where 
the  first  agents  had  tried  to  cultivate  flowers,  and 
behind  the  limestone  cliffs  crowned  with  cedars.  The 
house  was  large  on  the  ground,  with  wings  and  va 
rious  additions  built  out  as  if  at  random ;  on  each 
side  and  behind  were  rough  outside  chimneys  clamped 
to  the  wall ;  in  the  roof  over  the  central  part  dormer- 
windows  showed  a  low  second  story;  and  here  and 
there  at  irregular  intervals  were  outside  doors,  in  some 
cases  opening  out  into  space,  since  the  high  steps 
which  once  led  up  to  them  had  fallen  down,  and  re 
mained  as  they  fell,  heaps  of  stones  on  the  ground 
below.  "Within  were  suites  of  rooms,  large  and  small, 
showing  traces  of  workmanship  elaborate  for  such  a 
remote  locality ;  the  ceilings,  patched  with  rough  mor 
tar,  had  been  originally  decorated  with  moulding,  the 
12 


178  THE  OLD  AGENCY. 

doors  were  ornamented  with  scroll-work,  and  the  two 
large  apartments  on  each  side  of  the  entrance-hall 
possessed  chimney-pieces  and  central  hooks  for  chan 
deliers.  Beyond  and  behind  stretched  out  the  wings ; 
coining  to  what  appeared  to  be  the  end  of  the  house 
on  the  west,  there  unexpectedly  began  a  new  series 
of  rooms  turning  toward  the  north,  each  with  its  out 
side  door;  looking  for  a  corresponding  labyrinth  on 
the  eastern  side,  there  was  nothing  but  a  blank  wall. 
The  blind  stairway  went  up  in  a  kind  of  dark  well, 
and  once  up  it  was  a  difficult  matter  to  get  down 
without  a  plunge  from  top  to  bottom,  since  the  un 
defended  opening  was  just  where  no  one  would  expect 
to  find  it.  Sometimes  an  angle  was  so  arbitrarily 
walled  up  that  you  felt  sure  there  must  be  a  secret 
chamber  there,  and  furtively  rapped  on  the  wall  to 
catch  the  hollow  echo  within.  Then  again  you 
opened  a  door,  expecting  to  step  out  into  the  wil 
derness  of  a  garden,  and  found  yourself  in  a  set  of 
little  rooms  running  off  on  a  tangent,  one  after  the 
other,  and  ending  in  a  windowless  closet  and  an  open 
cistern.  But  the  Agency  gloried  in  its  irregularities, 
and  defied  criticism.  The  original  idea  of  its  archi 
tect  —  if  there  was  any  —  had  vanished ;  but  his 
work  remained,  a  not  unpleasing  variety  to  summer 
visitors  accustomed  to  city  houses,  all  built  with  a 
definite  purpose,  and  one  front  door. 

After  some  years  of  wandering  in  foreign  lands,  I 


THE   OLD  AGENCY.  179 

returned  to  my  own  country,  and  took  up  the  burden 
of  old  associations  whose  sadness  time  had  mercifully 
softened.  The  summer  was  over;  September  had  be 
gun,  but  there  came  to  me  a  great  wish  to  see  Mack- 
mac  once  more;  to  look  again  upon  the  little  white 
fort  where  I  had  lived  with  Archie,  my  soldier  nephew, 
killed  at  Shiloh.  The  steamer  took  me  safely  across 
Erie,  up  the  brimming  Detroit  Kiver,  through  the  en 
chanted  region  of  the  St.  Clair  flats,  and  out  into  broad 
Lake  Huron ;  there,  off  Thunder  Bay,  a  gale  met  us, 
arid  for  hours  we  swayed  between  life  and  death.  The 
season  for  pleasure  travelling  was  over;  my  fellow- 
passengers,  with  one  exception,  'were  of  that  class  of 
Americans  who,  dressed  in  cheap  imitations  of  fine 
clothes,  are  forever  travelling,  travelling,  —  taking  the 
steamers  not  from  preference,  but  because  they  are  less 
costly  than  an  all-rail  route.  The  thin,  listless  men,  in 
ill-fitting  black  clothes  and  shining  tall  hats,  sat  on  the 
deck  in  tilted  chairs,  hour  after  hour,  silent  and  dreary ; 
the  thin,  listless  women,  clad  in  raiment  of  many  col 
ors,  remained  upon  the  fixed  sofas  in  the  cabin  hour 
after  hour,  silent  and  weary.  At  meals  they  ate  indis 
criminately  everything  within  range,  but  continued  the 
same,  a  weary,  dreary,  silent  band.  The  one  exception 
was  an  old  man,  tall  and  majestic,  with  silvery  hair 
and  bright,  dark  eyes,  dressed  in  the  garb  of  a  Eoman 
Catholic  priest,  albeit  slightly  tinged  with  frontier 
innovations.  He  came  on  board  at  Detroit,  and  as 


180  THE  OLD  AGENCY. 

soon  as  we  were  under  way  he  exchanged  his  hat  for 
a  cloth  cap  embroidered  with  Indian  bead-work;  and 
when  the  cold  air,  precursor  of  the  gale,  struck  us  on 
Huron,  he  wrapped  himself  in  a  large  capote  made  of 
skins,  with  the  fur  inward. 

In  times  of  danger  formality  drops  from  us.  During 
those  long  hours,  when  the  next  moment  might  have 
brought  death,  this  old  man  and  I  were  together ;  and 
when  at  last  the  cold  dawn  came,  and  the  disabled 
steamer  slowly  ploughed  through  the  angry  water 
around  the  point,  and  showed  us  Mackinac  in  the 
distance,  we  discovered  that  the  island  was  a  mutual 
friend,  and  that  we  knew  each  other,  at  least  by  name ; 
for  the  silver-haired  priest  was  Father  Piret,  the  hermit 
of  the  Chenaux.  In  the  old  days,  when  I  was  living 
at  the  little  white  fort,  I  had  known  Father  Piret  by 
reputation,  and  he  had  heard  of  me  from  the  French 
half-breeds  around  the  point.  We  landed.  The  sum 
mer  hotels  were  closed,  and  I  was  directed  to  the  old 
Agency,  where  occasionally  a  boarder  was  received  by 
the  family  then  in  possession.  The  air  was  chilly,  and 
a  fine  rain  was  falling,  the  afterpiece  of  the  equinoctial ; 
the  wet  storm-flag  hung  heavily  down  over  the  fort  on 
the  height,  and  the  waves  came  in  sullenly.  All  was 
in  sad  accordance  with  my  feelings  as  I  thought  of  the 
past  and  its  dead,  while  the  slow  tears  of  age  moistened 
my  eyes.  But  the  next  morning  Mackinac  awoke, 
robed  in  autumn  splendor ;  the  sunshine  poured  down, 


THE   OLD   AGENCY.  181 

the  straits  sparkled  back,  the  forest  glowed  in  scarlet, 
the  larches  waved  their  wild,  green  hands,  the  fair- 
weather  flag  floated  over  the  little  fort,  and  all  was  as 
joyous  as  though  no  one  had  ever  died ;  and  indeed  it 
is  in  glorious  days  like  these  that  we  best  realize 
immortality. 

I  wandered  abroad  through  the  gay  forest  to  the 
Arch,  the  Lovers'  Leap,  and  old  Fort  Holmes,  whose 
British  walls  had  been  battered  down  for  pastime, 
so  that  only  a  caved-iii  British  cellar  remained  to 
mark  the  spot.  Eeturning  to  the  Agency,  I  learned 
that  Father  Piret  had  called  to  see  me. 

"  I  am  sorry  that  I  missed  him,"  I  said ;  "  he  is  a 
remarkable  old  man." 

The  circle  at  the  dinner- table  glanced  up  with  one 
accord.  The  little  Methodist  minister  with  the  sur 
prised  eyes  looked  at  me  more  surprised  than  ever; 
his  large  wife  groaned  audibly.  The  Baptist  colporteur 
peppered  his  potatoes  until  they  and  the  plate  were 
black  ;  the  Presbyterian  doctor,  who  was  the  champion 
of  the  Protestant  party  on  the  island,  wished  to  know 
if  I  was  acquainted  with  the  latest  devices  of  the  Scar 
let  "Woman  in  relation  to  the  county  school-fund. 

"But,  my  friends,"  I  replied,  "Father  Piret  and  I 
both  belong  to  the  past.  We  discuss  not  religion,  but 
Mackinac;  not  the  school-fund,  but  the  old  associations 
of  the  island,  which  is  dear  to  both  of  us." 

The  four  looked  at  me  with  distrust ;  they  saw  noth- 


182  THE  OLD  AGENCY. 

ing  dear  about  the  island,  unless  it  was  the  price  of 
fresh  meat ;  and  as  to  old  associations,  they  held  them 
selves  above  such  nonsense.  So,  one  and  all,  they  took 
beef  and  enjoyed  a  season  of  well-regulated  conversa 
tion,  leaving  me  to  silence  and  my  broiled  white-fish ; 
as  it  was  Friday,  no  doubt  they  thought  the  latter  a 
rag  of  popery. 

Very  good  rags. 

But  my  hostess,  a  gentle  little  woman,  stole  away 
from  these  bulwarks  of  Protestantism  in  the  late  after 
noon,  and  sought  me  in  my  room,  or  rather  series  of 
rooms,  since  there  were  five  opening  one  out  of  the 
other,  the  last  three  unfurnished,  and  all  the  doorless 
doorways  staring  at  me  like  so  many  fixed  eyes,  until, 
.oppressed  by  their  silent  watchfulness,  I  hung  a  shawl 
over  the  first  opening  and  .shut  out  the  whole  gazing 
suite. 

"  You  must  not  think,  Mrs.  Corlyne,  that  we  island 
ers  do  not  appreciate  Father  Piret,"  said  the  little 
woman,  who  belonged  to  one  of  the  old  island  families, 
descendants  of  a  chief  factor  of  the  fur  trade.  "There 
has  been  some  feeling  lately  against  the  Catholics  —  " 

"  Eoman  Catholics,  my  dear,"  I  said  with  Anglican 
particularity. 

"  But  we  all  love  and  respect  the  dear  old  man  as  a 
father." 

"  When  I  was  living  at  the  fort,  fifteen  years  ago,  I 
heard  occasionally  of  Father  Piret,"  I  said,  "but  he 


THE   OLD  AGENCY.  183 

seemed  to  be  almost  a  mythic  personage.     What  is  his 
history  ? " 

"  No  one  knows.  He  came  here  fifty  years  ago,  and 
after  officiating  on  the  island  a  few  years,  he  retired  to 
a  little.  Indian  farm  in  the  Chenaux,  where  he  has  lived 
ever  since.  Occasionally  he  holds  a  service  for  the 
half-breeds  at  Point  St.  Ignace,  but  the  parish  of  Mack- 
inac  proper  has  its  regular  priest,  and  Father  Piret  ap 
parently  does  not  hold  even  the  appointment  of  mis 
sionary,  Why  he  remains  here  —  a  man  educated, 
refined,  and  even  aristocratic  —  is  a  mystery.  He 
seems  to  be  well  provided  with  money ;  his  little  house 
in  the  Chenaux  contains  foreign  books  and  pictures, 
and  he  is  very  charitable  to  the  poor  Indians.  But  he 
keeps  himself  aloof,  and  seems  to  desire  no  intercourse 
with  the  world  beyond  his  letters  and  papers,  which 
come  regularly,  some  of  them  from  France.  He  seldom 
leaves  the  Straits ;  he  never  speaks  of  himself ;  always 
he  appears  as  you  saw  him,  carefully  dressed  and 
stately.  Each  summer  when  he  is  seen  on  the  street, 
there  is  more  or  less  curiosity  about  him  among  the 
summer  visitors,  for  he  is  quite  unlike  the  rest  of  us 
Mackinac  people.  But  no  one  can  discover  anything 
more  than  I  have  told  you,  and  those  who  have  per 
sisted  so  far  as  to  sail  over  to  the  Chenaux  either  lose 
their  way  among  the  channels,  or  if  they  find  the 
house,  they  never  find  him ;  the  door  is  locked,  and  no 
one  answers." 


184  THE  OLD  AGENCY. 

"  Singular,"  I  said.  "  He  has  nothing  of  the  hermit 
about  him.  He  has  what  I  should  call  a  courtly  man 
ner." 

"That  is  it/'  replied  my  hostess,  taking  up  the 
word ;  "  some  say  he  came  from  the  French  comrt,  —  a 
nobleman  exiled  for  political  offences ;  others  think 
he  is  a  priest  under  the  ban ;  and  there  is  still  a  third 
story,  to  the  effect  that  he  is  a  French  count,  who, 
owing  to  a  disappointment  in  love,  took  orders  and 
came  to  this  far-away  island,  so  that  he  might  seclude 
himself  forever  from  the  world." 

"  But  no  one  really  knows  ? " 

"  Absolutely  nothing.  He  is  beloved  by  all  the  real 
old  island  families,  whether  they  are  of  his  faith  or 
not;  and  when  he  dies  the  whole  Strait,  from  Bois 
Blanc  light  to  far  Waugoschance,  will  mourn  for  him." 

At  sunset  the  Father  came  again  to  see  me ;  the  front 
door  of  my  room  was  open,  and  we  seated  ourselves  on 
the  piazza  outside.  The  roof  of  bark  thatch  had  fallen 
away,  leaving  the  bare  beams  overhead  twined  with 
brier-roses ;  the  floor  and  house  side  were  frescoed 
with  those  lichen- colored  spots  which  show  that  the 
gray  planks  have  lacked  paint  for  many  long  years ; 
the  windows  had  wooden  shutters  fastened  back  with 
irons  shaped  like  the  letter  S,  and  on  the  central  door 
was  a  brass  knocker,  and  a  plate  bearing  the  words, 
"United  States  Agency." 

"  When  I  first  came  to  the  island,"  said  Father  Piret, 


THE   OLD   AGENCY.  185 

"this  was  the  residence  par  excellence.  The  old  house 
was  brave  with  green  and  white  paint  then  ;  it  had 
candelabra  on  its  high  mantles,  brass  andirons  on  its 
many  hearthstones,  curtains  for  all  its  little  windows, 
and  carpets  for  all  its  uneven  floors.  Much  cooking 
went  on,  and  smoke  curled  up  from  all  these  outside 
chimneys.  Those  were  the  days  of  the  fur  trade,  and 
Mackinac  was  a  central  mart.  Hither  twice  a  year 
came  the  bateaux  from  the  Northwest,  loaded  with 
furs ;  and  in  those  old,  decaying  warehouses  on  the  back 
street  of  the  village  were  stored  the  goods  sent  out 
from  New  York,  with  which  the  bateaux  were  loaded 
again,  and  after  a  few  days  of  revelry,  during  which 
the  improvident  voyagers  squandered  all  their  hard- 
earned  gains,  the  train  returned  westward  into  'the 
countries,'  as  they  called  the  wilderness  beyond  the 
lakes,  for  another  six  months  of  toil.  The  officers  of 
the  little  fort  on  the  height,  the  chief  factors  of  the  fur 
company,  and  the  United  States  Indian  agent,  formed 
the  feudal  aristocracy  of  the  island;  but  the  agent 
had  the  most  imposing  mansion,  and  often  have  I  seen 
the  old  house  shining  with  lights  across  its  whole 
broadside  of  windows,  and  gay  with  the  sound  of  a 
dozen  French  violins.  The  garden,  now  a  wilderness, 
was  the  pride  of  the  island.  Its  prim  arbors,  its  spring 
and  spring-house,  its  flower-beds,  where,  with  infinite 
pains,  a  few  hardy  plants  were  induced  to  blossom ;  its 
cherry-tree  avenue,  whose  early  red  fruit  the  short 


186  THE   OLD   AGENCY. 

summer  could  scarcely  ripen;  its  annual  attempts  at 
vegetables,  which  never  came  to  maturity,  —  formed 
topics  for  conversation  in  court  circles.  Potatoes  then 
as  now  were  left  to  the  mainland  Indians,  who  came 
over  with  their  canoes  heaped  with  the  fine,  large  thin- 
jacketed  fellows,  bartering  them  all  for  a  loaf  or  two 
of  bread  and  a  little  whiskey. 

"The  stockade  which  surrounds  the  place  was  at 
that  day  a  not  unnecessary  defence.  At  the  time  of 
the  payments  the  island  swarmed  with  Indians,  who 
came  from  Lake  Superior  and  the  Northwest,  to  receive 
the  government  pittance.  Camped  on  the  beach  as  far 
as  the  eye  could  reach,  these  wild  warriors,  dressed  in 
all  their  savage  finery,  watched  the  Agency  with  greedy 
eyes,  as  they  waited  for  their  turn.  The  great  gate 
was  barred,  and  sentinels  stood  at  the  loopholes  with 
loaded  muskets ;  one  by  one  the  chiefs  were  admitted, 
stalked  up  to  the  office,  —  that  wing  on  the  right,  — 
received  the  allotted  sum,  silently  selected  something 
from  the  displayed  goods,  and  as  silently  departed, 
watched  by  quick  eyes,  until  the  great  gate  closed 
behind  them.  The  guns  of  the  fort  were  placed  so 
as  to  command  the  Agency  during  payment  time ;  and 
when,  after  several  anxious,  watchful  days  and  nights, 
the  last  brave  had  received  his  portion,  and  the  last 
canoe  started  away  toward  the  north,  leaving  only  the 
comparatively  peaceful  mainland  Indians  behind,  the 
island  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief." 


THE   OLD   AGENCY.  187 

"  Was  there  any  real  danger  ? "  I  asked. 

"  The  Indians  are  ever  treacherous,"  replied  the  Fa 
ther.  Then  he  was  silent,  and  seemed  lost  in  revery. 
The  pure,  ever-present  breeze  of  Mackinac  played  in 
his  long  silvery  hair,  and  his  bright  eyes  roved  along 
the  wall  of  the  old  house;  he  had  a  broad  forehead, 
noble  features,  and  commanding  presence,  and  as  he 
sat  there,  recluse  as  he  was,  —  aged,  alone,  without  a 
history,  with  scarcely  a  name  or  a  place  in  the  world, 
—  he  looked,  in  the  power  of  his  native-born  dignity, 
worthy  of  a  royal  coronet. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  old  Jacques,"  he  said,  after  a  long 
pause.  "  He  once  lived  in  these  rooms  of  yours,  and 
died  on  that  bench  at  the  end  of  the  piazza,  sitting  in 
the  sunshine,  with  his  staff  in  his  hand." 

"  Who  was  he  ? "  I  asked.  "  Tell  me  the  story,  Fa 
ther." 

"There  is  not  much  to  tell,  madame;  but  in  my 
mind  he  is  so  associated  with  this  old  house,  that  I 
always  think  of  him  when  I  come  here,  and  fancy  I 
see  him  on  that  bench. 

"When  the  United  States  agent  removed  to  the 
Apostle  Islands,  at  the  western  end  of  Lake  Superior, 
this  place  remained  for  some  time  uninhabited.  But 
one  winter  morning  smoke  was  seen  coming  out  of 
that  great  chimney  on  the  side ;  and  in  the  course  of 
the  day  several  curious  persons  endeavored  to  open  the 
main  gate,  at  that  time  the  only  entrance.  But  the 


188  THE  OLD   AGENCY. 

gate  was  barred  within,  and  as  the  high  stockade  was 
slippery  with  ice,  for  some  days  the  mystery  remained 
unsolved.  The  islanders,  always  slow,  grow  torpid  in 
the  winter  like  bears ;  they  watched  the  smoke  in  the 
daytime  and  the  little  twinkling  light  by  night ;  they 
talked  of  spirits  both  French  and  Indian  as  they  went 
their  rounds,  but  they  were  too  indolent  to  do  more. 
At  length  the  fort  commandant  heard  of  the  smoke, 
and  saw  the  light  from  his  quarters  on  the  height.  As 
government  property,  he  considered  the  Agency  under 
his  charge,  and  he  was  preparing  to  send  a  detail  of 
men  to  examine  the  deserted  mansion  in  its  ice-bound 
garden,  when  its  mysterious  occupant  appeared  in  the 
village;  it  was  an  old  man,  silent,  gentle,  apparently 
French.  He  carried  a  canvas  bag,  and  bought  a  few 
supplies  of  the  coarsest  description,  as  though  he  was 
very  poor.  Unconscious  of  observation,  he  made  his 
purchases  and  returned  slowly  homeward,  barring  the 
great  gate  behind  him.  Who  was  he  ?  No  one  knew. 
Whence  and  when  came  he  ?  No  one  could  tell. 

"The  detail  of  soldiers  from  the  fort  battered  at 
the  gate,  and  when  the  silent  old  man  opened  it  they 
followed  him  through  the  garden,  where  his  feet 
had  made  a  lonely  trail  over  the  deep  snow,  round 
to  the  side  door.  They  entered,  and  found  some 
blankets  on  the  floor,  a  fire  of  old  knots  on  the  hearth, 
a  long  narrow  box  tied  with  a  rope;  his  poor  little 
supplies  stood  in  one  corner,  —  bread,  salted  fish,  and 


THE  OLD  AGENCY.  189 

a  few  potatoes,  —  and  over  the  fire  hung  a  rusty  tea 
kettle,  its  many  holes  carefully  plugged  with  bits  of 
rag.  It  was  a  desolate  scene;  the  old  man  in  the 
great  rambling  empty  house  in  the  heart  of  an  arctic 
winter.  He  said  little,  and  the  soldiers  could  not  un 
derstand  his  language ;  but  they  left  him  unmolested, 
and  going  back  to  the  fort,  they  told  what  they  had 
seen.  Then  the  major  went  in  person  to  the  Agency, 
and  gathered  from  the  stranger's  words  that  he  had 
come  to  the  island  over  the  ice  in  the  track  of  the 
mail-carrier ;  that  he  was  an  emigrant  from  France  on 
his  way  to  the  Ked  Kiver  of  the  North,  but  his  strength 
failing,  owing  to  the  intense  cold,  he  had  stopped  at 
the  island,  and  seeing  the  uninhabited  house,  he  had 
crept  into  it,  as  he  had  not  enough  money  to  pay  for 
a  lodging  elsewhere.  He  seemed  a  quiet,  inoffensive 
old  man,  and  after  all  the  islanders  had  had  a  good  long 
slow  stare  at  him,  he  was  left  in  peace,  with  his  little 
curling  smoke  by  day  and  his  little  twinkling  light  by 
night,  although  no  one  thought  of  assisting  him  ;  there  is 
a  strange  coldness  of  heart  in  these  northern  latitudes. 
"I  was  then  living  at  the  Chenaux;  there  was  a 
German  priest  on  the  island ;  I  sent  over  two  half- 
breeds  every  ten  days  for  the  mail,  and  through  them 
I  heard  of  the  stranger  at  the  Agency.  He  was 
French,  they  said,  and  it  was  rumored  in  the  saloons 
along  the  frozen  docks  that  he  had  seen  Paris.  This 
warmed  my  heart ;  for,  madame,  I  spent  my  youth  in 


190  THE  OLD  AGENCY. 

Paris,  —  the  dear,  the  beautiful  city  !  So  I  came  over 
to  the  island  in  my  dog-sledge  ;  a  little  thing  is  an 
event  in  our  long,  long  winter.  I  reached  the  village 
in  the  afternoon  twilight,  and  made  my  way  alone  to 
the  Agency;  the  old  man  no  longer  barred  his  gate, 
and  swinging  it  open  with  difficulty,  I  followed  the 
trail  through  the  snowy  silent  garden  round  to  the 
side  door  of  this  wing,  —  the  wing  you  occupy.  I 
knocked  ;  he  opened  ;  I  greeted  him,  and  entered.  He 
had  tried  to  furnish  his  little  room  with  the  broken 
relics  of  the  deserted  dwelling;  a  mended  chair,  a 
stool,  a  propped-up  table,  a  shelf  with  two  or  three 
battered  tin  dishes,  and  some  straw  in  one  corner 
comprised  the  whole  equipment,  but  the  floor  was 
clean,  the  old  dishes  polished,  and  the  blankets  neatly 
spread  over  the  straw  which  formed  the  bed.  On  the 
table  the  supplies  were  ranged  in  order ;  there  was  a 
careful  pile  of  knots  on  one  side  of  the  hearth,  and 
the  fire  was  evidently,  husbanded  to  last  as  long  as 
possible.  He  gave  me  the  mended  chair,  lighted  a 
candle-end  stuck  in  a  bottle,  and  then  seating  him 
self  on  the  stool,  he  gazed  at  me  in  his  silent  way 
until  I  felt  like  an  uncourteous  intruder.  I  spoke  to 
him  in  French,  offered  my  services;  in  short,  I  did 
my  best  to  break  down  the  barrier  of  his  reserve ; 
there  was  something  pathetic  in  the  little  room  and 
its  lonely  occupant,  and,  besides,  T  knew  by  his  accent 
that  we  were  both  from  the  banks  of  the  Seine. 


THE  OLD  AGENCY.  191 

"  Well,  I  heard  his  story,  —  not  then,  but  afterward ; 
it  came  out  gradually  during  the  eleven  months  of  our 
acquaintance;  for  he  became  my  friend,  —  almost  the 
only  friend  of  fifty  years.  I  am  an  isolated  man, 
niadame.  It  must  be  so.  God's  will  be  done ! " 

The  Father  paused,  and  looked  off  over  the  darkening 
water;  he  did  not  sigh,  neither  was  his  calm  brow 
clouded,  but  there  was  in  his  face  what  seemed  to  me 
a  noble  resignation,  and  I  have  ever  since  felt  sure  that 
the  secret  of  his  exile  held  in  it  a  self-sacrifice;  for 
only  self-sacrifice  can  produce  that  divine  expression. 

Out  in  the  straits  shone  the  low-down  green  light  of 
a  schooner  ;  beyond  glimmered  the  mast-head  star  of  a 
steamer,  with  the  line  of  cabin  lights  below,  and  away 
on  the  point  of  Bois  Blanc  gleamed  the  steady  radiance 
of  the  lighthouse  showing  the  way  into  Lake  Huron ; 
the  broad  overgrown  garden  cut  us  off  from  the  village, 
but  above  on  the  height  we  could  see  the  lighted  win 
dows  of  the  fort,  although  still  the  evening  sky  retained 
that  clear  hue  that  seems  so  much  like  daylight  when 
one  looks  aloft,  although  the  earth  lies  in  dark  shadows 
below.  The  Agency  was  growing  indistinct  even  to 
our  near  eyes ;  its  white  chimneys  loomed  up  like 
ghosts,  the  shutters  sighed  in  the  breeze,  and  the 
planks  of  the  piazza  creaked  causelessly.  The  old 
house  was  full  of  the  spirits  of  memories,  and  at  twi 
light  they  came  abroad  and  bewailed  themselves. 
"The  place  is  haunted,"  I  said,  as  a  distant  door 
groaned  drearily. 


192  THE  OLD  AGENCY. 

"Yes,"  replied  Father  Piret,  coming  out  of  his  ab 
straction,  "  and  this  wing  is  haunted  by  my  old  French 
friend.  As  time  passed  and  the  spring  came,  he  fitted 
up  in  his  fashion  the  whole  suite  of  five  rooms.  He 
had  his  parlor,  sleeping-room,  kitchen,  and  store-room, 
the  whole  furnished  only  with  the  articles  I  have 
already  described,  save  that  the  bed  was  of  fresh  green 
boughs  instead  of  straw.  Jacques  occupied  all  the 
rooms  with  ceremonious  exactness ;  he  sat  in  the  par 
lor,  and  I  too  must  sit  there  when  I  came ;  in  the  sec 
ond  room  he  slept  and  made  his  careful  toilet,  with  his 
shabby  old  clothes ;  the  third  was  his  kitchen  and  din 
ing-room  ;  and  the  fourth,  that  little  closet  on  the  right, 
was  his  store-room.  His  one  indulgence  was  coffee ; 
coffee  he  must  and  would  have,  though  he  slept  on 
straw  and  went  without  meat.  But  he  cooked  to  per 
fection  in  his  odd  way,  and  I  have  often  eaten  a  dainty 
meal  in  that  little  kitchen,  sitting  at  the  propped-up 
table,  using  the  battered  tin  dishes,  and  the  clumsy 
wooden  spoons  fashioned  with  a  jack-knife.  After  we 
had  become  friends  Jacques  would  accept  occasional 
aid  from  me,  and  it  gave  me  a  warm  pleasure  to  think 
that  I  had  added  something  to  his  comfort,  were  it  only 
a  little  sugar,  butter,  or  a  pint  of  milk.  No  one  dis 
turbed  the  old  man ;  no  orders  came  from  Washington 
respecting  the  Agency  property,  and  the  major  had  not 
the  heart  to  order  him  away.  There  were  more  than 
houses  enough  for  the  scanty  population  of  the  island, 


THE  OLD  AGENCY.  193 

and  only  a  magnate  could  furnish  these  large  rambling 
rooms.  So  the  soldiers  were  sent  down  to  pick  the  red 
cherries  for  the  use  of  the  garrison,  but  otherwise 
Jacques  had  the  whole  place  to  himself,  with  all  its 
wings,  outbuildings,  arbors,  and  garden  beds. 

"  But  I  have  not  told  you  all.  The  fifth  apartment 
in  the  suite  —  the  square  room  with  four  windows  and 
an  outside  door  —  was  the  old  man's  sanctuary;  here 
were  his  precious  relics,  and  here  he  offered  up  his 
devotions,  half  Christian,  half  pagan,  with  never-failing 
ardor.  From  the  long  narrow  box  which  the  fort  sol 
diers  had  noticed  came  an  old  sabre,  a  worn  and  faded 
uniform  of  the  French  grenadiers,  a  little  dried  sprig, 
its  two  withered  leaves  tied  in  their  places  with 
thread,  and  a  coarse  woodcut  of  the  great  Napoleon ;  for 
Jacques  was  a  soldier  of  the  Empire.  The  uniform 
hung  on  the  wal],  carefully  arranged  on  pegs  as  a  man 
would  wear  it,  and  the  sabre  was  brandished  from  the 
empty  sleeve  as  though  a  hand  held  it;  the  woodcut 
framed  in  green,  renewed  from  day  to  day,  pine  in  the 
winter,  maple  in  the  summer,  occupied  the  opposite 
side,  and  under  it  was  fastened  the  tiny  withered  sprig, 
while  on  the  floor  below  was  a  fragment  of  buffalo-skin 
which  served  the  soldier  for  a  stool  when  he  knelt  in 
prayer.  And  did  he  pray  to  Napoleon,  you  ask  ?  I 
hardly  know.  He  had  a  few  of  the  Church's  prayers 
by  heart,  but  his  mind  was  full  of  the  Emperor  as  he 

repeated  them,  and  his  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  pic- 
13 


194  THE  OLD  AGENCY. 

ture  as  though  it  was  the  face  of  a  saint.  Discovering 
this,  I  labored  hard  to  bring  him  to  a  clearer  under 
standing  of  the  faith ;  but  all  in  vain.  He  listened  to 
me  patiently,  even  reverently,  although  I  was  much 
the  younger ;  at  intervals  he  replied,  '  Oui,  mon  pere,' 
and  the  next  day  he  said  his  prayers  to  the  dead  Em 
peror  as  usual.  And  this  was  not  the  worst ;  in  place 
of  an  amen,  there  came  a  fierce  imprecation  against 
the  whole  English  nation.  After  some  months  I  suc 
ceeded  in  persuading  him  to  abandon  this  termination  ; 
but  I  always  suspected  that  it  was  but  a  verbal  aban 
donment,  and  that,  mentally,  the  curse  was  as  strong 
as  ever. 

"  Jacques  had  been  a  soldier  of  the  Empire,  as  it  is 
called,  —  a  grenadier  under  Napoleon ;  he  had  loved 
his  General  and  Emperor  in  life,  and  adored  him  in 
death  with  the  affectionate  pertinacity  of  a  faithful 
dog.  One  hot  day  during  the  German  campaign,  Na 
poleon,  engaged  in  conference  with  some  of  his  gen 
erals,  was  disturbed  by  the  uneasy  movements  of  his 
horse;  looking  around  for  some  one  to  brush  away 
the  flies,  he  saw  Jacques,  who  stood  at  a  short  dis 
tance  watching  his  Emperor  with  admiring  eyes.  Al 
ways  quick  to  recognize  the  personal  affection  he 
inspired,  Napoleon  signed  to  the  grenadier  to  ap 
proach.  'Here,  mon  brave,'  he  said,  smiling;  'get  a 
branch  and  keep  the  flies  from  my  horse  a  few  mo 
ments.'  The  proud  soldier  obeyed ;  he  heard  the  con- 


THE   OLD   AGENCY.  195 

versation  of  the  Emperor ;  he  kept  the  flies  from  his 
horse.  As  he  talked,  Napoleon  idly  plucked  a  little 
sprig  from  the  branch  as  it  came  near  his  hand,  and 
played  with  it;  and  when,  the  conference  over,  with 
a  nod  of  thanks  to  Jacques,  he  rode  away,  the  gren 
adier  stopped,  picked  up  the  sprig  fresh  from  the 
Emperor's  hand,  and  placed  it  carefully  in  his  breast 
pocket.  The  Emperor  had  noticed  him ;  the  Emperor 
had  called  him  '  mon  brave ' ;  the  Emperor  had 
smiled  upon  him.  This  was  the  glory  of  Jacques's 
life.  How  many  times  have  I  listened  to  the  story, 
told  always  in  the  same  words,  with  the  same  ges 
tures  in  the  same  places  !  He  remembered  every  sen 
tence  of  the  conversation  he  had  heard,  and. repeated 
them  with  automatic  fidelity,  understanding  nothing 
of  their  meaning ;  even  when  I  explained  their  prob 
able  connection  with  the  campaign,  my  words  made 
no  impression  upon  him,  and  I  could  see  that  they 
conveyed  no  idea  to  his  mind.  He  was  made  for  a 
soldier ;  brave  and  calm,  he  reasoned  not,  but  simply 
obeyed,  and  to  this  blind  obedience  there  was  added 
a  heart  full  of  affection  which,  when  concentrated  upon 
the  Emperor,  amounted  to  idolatry.  Napoleon  pos 
sessed  a  singular  personal  power  over  his  soldiers ; 
they  all  loved  him,  but  Jacques  adored  him. 

"It  was  an  odd,  affectionate  animal,"  said  Father 
Piret,  dropping  unconsciously  into  a  French  idiom  to 
express  his  meaning.  "  The  little  sprig  had  been  kept 


196  THE  OLD  AGENCY. 

as  a  talisman,  and  no  saintly  relic  was   ever  more 
honored ;  the  Emperor  had  touched  it ! 

"  Grenadier  Jacques  made  one  of  the  ill-fated  Eus- 
sian  army,  and,  although  wounded  and  suffering,  he 
still  endured  until  the  capture  of  Paris.  Then,  when 
Napoleon  retired  to  Elba,  he  fell  sick  from  grief,  nor 
did  he  recover  until  the  Emperor  returned,  when, 
with  thousands  of  other  soldiers,  our  Jacques  hastened 
to  his  standard,  and  the  hundred  days  began.  Then 
came  Waterloo.  Then  came  St.  Helena.  But  the 
grenadier  lived  on  in  hope,  year  after  year,  until 
the  Emperor  died,  —  died  in  exile,  in  the  hands  of 
the  hated  English.  Broken-hearted,  weary  of  the  sight 
of  his  native  land,  he  packed  his  few  possessions, 
and  fled  away  over  the  ocean,  with  a  vague  idea  of 
joining  a  French  settlement  on  the  Eed  Eiver;  I 
have  always  supposed  it  must  be  the  Eed  Eiver  of 
the  South;  there  are  French  there.  But  the  poor 
soldier  was  very  ignorant;  some  one  directed  him  to 
these  frozen  regions,  and  he  set  out;  all  places  were 
alike  to  him  now  that  the  Emperor  had  gone  from 
earth.  Wandering  as  far  as  Mackinac  on  his  blind 
pilgrimage,  Jacques  found  his  strength  failing,  and 
crept  into  this  deserted  house  to  die.  Eecovering,  he 
made  for  himself  a  habitation  from  a  kind  of  instinct, 
as  a  beaver  might  have  done.  He  gathered  together 
the  wrecks  of  furniture,  he  hung  up  his  treasures,  he 
had  his  habits  for  every  hour  of  the  day;  soldier- 


THE  OLD  AGENCY.  197 

like,  everything  was  done  by  rule.  At  a  particular 
hour  it  was  his  custom  to  sit  on  that  bench  in  the 
sunshine,  wrapped  in  his  blankets  in  the  winter,  in 
summer  in  his  shirt-sleeves  with  his  one  old  coat 
carefully  hung  on  that  peg;  I  can  see  him  before 
me  now.  On  certain  days  he  would  wash  his  few 
poor  clothes,  and  hang  them  out  on  the  bushes  to 
dry;  then  he  would  patiently  mend  them  with  his 
great  brass  thimble  and  coarse  thread.  Poor  old  gar 
ments  !  they  were  covered  with  awkward  patches. 

"  At  noon  he  would  prepare  his  one  meal ;  for  his 
breakfast  and  supper  were  but  a  cup  of  coffee. 
Slowly  and  with  the  greatest  care  the  materials  were 
prepared  and  the  cooking  watched.  There  was  a 
savor  of  the  camp,  a  savor  of  the  Paris  cafe",  and  a 
savor  of  originality ;  and  often,  wearied  with  the 
dishes  prepared  by  my  half-breeds,  I  have  come  over 
to  the  island  to  dine  with  Jacques,  for  the  old  sol 
dier  was  proud  of  his  skill,  and  liked  an  appre 
ciative  guest.  And  I  —  But  it  is  not  my  story  I 
tell." 

"0  Father  Piret,  if  you  could  but  —  " 
"  Thanks,  madame.  To  others  I  say,  '  What  would 
you  ?  I  have  been  here  since  youth ;  you  know  my 
life.'  But  to  you  I  say,  there  was  a  past ;  brief,  full, 
crowded  into  a  few  years;  but  I  cannot  tell  it;  my 
lips  are  sealed!  Again,  thanks  for  your  sympathy, 
madame.  And  now  I  will  go  back  to  Jacques. 


198  THE  OLD  AGENCY. 

"  We  were  comrades,  he  and  I ;  he  would  not  come 
over  to  the  Chenaux ;  he  was  unhappy  if  the  routine 
of  his  day  was  disturbed,  but  I  often  stayed  a  day 
with  him  at  the  Agency,  for  I  too  liked  the  silent 
house.  It  has  its  relics,  by  the  way.  Have  you 
noticed  a  carved  door  in  the  back  part  of  the  main 
building  ?  That  was  brought  from  the  old  chapel  on 
the  mainland,  built  as  early  as  1700.  The  whole  of 
this  locality  is  sacred  ground  in  the  history  of  our 
Church.  It  was  first  visited  by  our  missionaries  in 
1670,  and  over  at  Point  St.  Ignace  the  dust  which 
was  once  the  mortal  body  of  Father  Marquette  lies 
buried.  The  exact  site  of  the  grave  is  lost ;  but  we 
know  that  in  1677  his  Indian  converts  brought  back 
his  body,  wrapped  in  birch-bark,  from  the  eastern 
shore  of  Lake  Michigan,  where  he  died,  to  his  be 
loved  mission  of  St.  Ignace.  There  he  was  buried 
in  a  vault  under  the  little  log-church.  Some  years 
later  the  spot  was  abandoned,  and  the  resident  priests 
returned  to  Montreal.  We  have  another  little  Indian 
church  there  now,  and  the  point  is  forever  conse 
crated  by  its  unknown  grave.  At  various  times  I 
told  Jacques  the  history  of  this  strait,  —  its  islands, 
and  points ;  but  he  evinced  little  interest.  He  lis 
tened  with  some  attention  to  my  account  of  the  bat 
tle  which  took  place  on  Dousman's  farm,  not  far 
from  the  British  Landing;  but  when  he  found  that 
the  English  were  victorious,  he  muttered  a  great  oath 


THE  OLD  AGENCY.  199 

and  refused  to  hear  more.  To  him  the  English  were 
fiends  incarnate.  Had  they  not  slowly  murdered  his 
Emperor  on  their  barren  rock  in  the  sea? 

"Only  once  did  I  succeed  in  interesting  the  old 
soldier.  Then,  as  now,  I  received  twice  each  year 
a  package  of  foreign  pamphlets  and  papers;  among 
them  came,  that  summer,  a  German  ballad,  written 
by  that  strange  being,  Henri  Heine.  I  give  it  to 
you  in  a  later  English  translation :  — 

THE  GRENADIERS. 
To  the  land  of  France  went  two  grenadiers, 

From  a  Russian  prison  returning  ; 
But  they  hung  down  their  heads  on  the  German  frontiers, 

The  news  from  the  fatherland  learning. 

For  there  they  "both  heard  the  sorrowful  tale, 

That  France  was  by  fortune  forsaken  : 
That  her  mighty  army  was  scattered  like  hail, 

And  the  Emperor,  the  Emperor  taken. 

Then  there  wept  together  the  grenadiers, 

The  sorrowful  story  learning  ; 
And  one  said,   "0  woe  !"  as  the  news  he  hears, 

"How  I  feel  my  old  wound  burning!" 

The  other  said,   "  The  song  is  sung, 

And  I  wish  that  we  both  were  dying ! 
But  at  home  I  Ve  a  wife  and  a  child,  —  they  're  young, 

On  me,  and  me  only,  relying." 

"  0,  what  is  a  wife  or  a  child  to  me  ? 

Deeper  wants  all  my  spirit  have  shaken  : 
Let  them  beg,  let  them  beg,  should  they  hungry  be  ! 

My  Emperor,  my  Emperor  taken  ! 


200  THE  OLD  AGENCY. 

"  But  I  beg  you,  brother,  if  by  chance 

You  soon  shall  see  me  dying, 
Then  take  my  corpse  with  you  back  to  France  : 

Let  it  ever  in  France  be  lying. 

"  The  cross  of  honor  with  crimson  band 
Shall  rest  on  my  heart  as  it  bound  me  : 

Give  me  my  musket  in  my  hand, 
And  buckle  my  sword  around  me. 

"  And  there  I  will  lie  and  listen  still, 

In  my  sentry  coffin  staying, 
Till  I  feel  the  thundering  cannon's  thrill, 

And  horses  tramping  and  neighing. 

"  Then  my  Emperor  will  ride  well  over  my  grave, 
'Mid  sabres'  bright  slashing  and  fighting, 

And  I  '11  rise  all  weaponed  up  out  of  my  grave, 
For  the  Emperor,  the  Emperor  fighting  ! " 

"This  simple  ballad  went  straight  to  the  heart  of 
old  Jacques;  tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks  as  I  read, 
and  he  would  have  it  over  and  over  again.  '  Ah  ! 
that  comrade  was  happy/  he  said.  '  He  died  when 
the  Emperor  was  only  taken.  I  too  would  have  gone 
to  my  grave  smiling,  could  I  have  thought  that  my 
Emperor  would  come  riding  over  it  with  all  his  army 
around  him  again!  But  he  is  dead,  —  my  Emperor 
is  dead!  Ah!  that  comrade  was  a  happy  man;  he 
died !  He  did  not  have  to  stand  by  while  the  English 
—  may  they  be  forever  cursed !  — slowly,  slowly  mur 
dered  him,  —  murdered  the  great  Napoleon !  No ;  that 
comrade  died.  Perhaps  he  is  with  the  Emperor  now, 
—  that  comrade-grenadier.' 


THE  OLD  AGENCY.  201 

"To  be  with  his  Emperor  was  Jacques's  idea  of 
heaven. 

"  From  that  moment  each  time  I  visited  the  Agency 
I  must  repeat  the  verses  again  and  again ;  they  became 
a  sort  of  hymn.  Jacques  had  not  the  capacity  to  learn 
the  ballad,  although  he  so  often  listened  to  it,  but  the 
seventh  verse  he  managed  to  repeat  after  a  fashion 
of  his  own,  setting  it  to  a  nondescript  tune,  and  croon 
ing  it  about  the  house  as  he  came  and  went  on  his 
little  rounds.  Gradually  he  altered  the  words,  but  I 
could  not  make  out  the  new  phrases  as  he  muttered 
them  over  to  himself,  as  if  trying  them. 

" '  What  is  it  you  are  saying,  Jacques  ? '  I  asked. 

"But  he  would  not  tell  me.  After  a  time  I  dis 
covered  that  he  had  added  the  altered  verse  to  his 
prayers ;  for  always  when  I  was  at  the  Agency  I  went 
with  him  to  his  sanctuary,  if  for  no  other  purpose 
than  to  prevent  the  uttered  imprecation  that  served 
as  amen  for  the  whole.  The  verse,  whatever  it  was, 
came  in  before  this. 

"  So  the  summer  passed.  The  vague  intention  of 
going  on  to  the  Eed  Eiver  of  the  North  had  faded 
away,  and  Jacques  lived  along  on  the  island  as  though 
he  had  never  lived  anywhere  else.  He  grew  wonted 
to  the  Agency,  like  some  old  family  cat,  until  he 
seemed  to  belong  to  the  house,  and  all  thought  of 
disturbing  him  was  forgotten.  '  There  is  Jacques  out 
washing  his  clothes,'  'There  is  Jacques  going  to  buy 


202  THE  OLD  AGENCY. 

his  coffee/  'There  is  Jacques  sitting  on  the  piazza/ 
said  the  islanders;  the  old  man  served  them  instead 
of  a  clock. 

"  One  dark  autumn  day  I  came  over  from  the  Che- 
naux  to  get  the  mail.  The  water  was  rough,  and  my 
boat,  tilted  far  over  on  one  side,  skimmed  the  crests  of 
the  waves  in  the  daring  fashion  peculiar  to  the  Macki- 
nac  craft ;  the  mail-steamer  had  not  come  in,  owing  to 
the  storm  outside,  and  I  went  on  to  the  Agency  to  see 
Jacques.  He  seemed  as  usual,  and  we  had  dinner  over 
the  little  fire,  for  the  day  was  chilly ;  the  meal  over, 
iny  host  put  everything  in  order  again  in  his  method 
ical  way,  and  then  retired  to  his  sanctuary  for  prayers. 
I  followed,  and  stood  in  the  doorway  while  he  knelt. 
The  room  was  dusky,  and  the  uniform  with  its  out 
stretched  sabre  looked  like  a  dead  soldier  leaning 
against  the  wall ;  the  face  of  Napoleon  opposite  seemed 
to  gaze  down  on  Jacques  as  he  knelt,  as  though  listen 
ing.  Jacques  muttered  his  prayers,  and  I  responded 
Amen !  then,  after  a  silence,  came  the  altered  verse ; 
then,  with  a  quick  glance  toward  me,  another  si 
lence,  which  I  felt  sure  contained  the  unspoken  curse. 
Gravely  he  led  the  way  back  to  the  kitchen  —  for,  ow 
ing  to  the  cold,  he  allowed  me  to  dispense  with  the 
parlor,  —  and  there  we  spent  the  afternoon  together, 
talking,  and  watching  for  the  mail-boat.  'Jacques/ 
I  said,  'what  is  that  verse  you  have  added  to  your 
prayers  ?  Come,  my  friend,  why  should  you  keep  it 
from  me  ? ' 


THE  OLD  AGENCY.  203 

"'It  is  nothing,  mon  pere, — nothing/  he  replied. 
But  again  I  urged  him  to  tell  me ;  more  to  pass  away 
the  time  than  from  any  real  interest.  '  Come/  I  said, 
'  it  may  be  your  last  chance.  Who  knows  but  that  I 
may  be  drowned  on  my  way  back  to  the  Chenaux  ? ' 

" '  True/  replied  the  old  soldier,  calmly.  '  Well,  then, 
here  it  is,  mon  pere :  my  death- wish.  Voila  ! ' 

" ( Something  you  wish  to  have  done  after  death  ? ' 

"'Yes.' 

" '  And  who  is  to  do  it  ? ' 

" '  My  Emperor.' 

"  '  But,  Jacques,  the  Emperor  is  dead.' 

" '  He  will  have  it  done  all  the  same,  mon  pere.' 

"  In  vain  I  argued ;  Jacques  was  calmly  obstinate. 
He  had  mixed  up  his  Emperor  with  the  stories  of  the 
Saints ;  why  should  not  Napoleon  do  what  they  had 
done  ? 

" '  What  is  the  verse,  any  way  ? '  I  said  at  last. 

" '  It  is  my  death-wish,  as  I  said  before,  mon  pere.' 
And  he  repeated  the  following.  He  said  it  in  French, 
for  I  had  given  him  a  French  translation,  as  he  knew 
nothing  of  German ;  but  I  will  give  you  the  English,  as 
he  had  altered  it :  — 

'  The  Emperor's  face  with  its  green  leaf  band 
Shall  rest  on  my  heart  that  loved  him  so. 
Give  me  the  sprig  in  my  dead  hand, 
My  uniform  and  sabre  around  me. 

Amen.' 


204  THE  OLD  AGENCY. 

•• 

"  So  prays  Grenadier  Jacques, 

"  The  old  soldier  had  sacrificed  the  smooth  metre ; 
but  I  understood  what  he  meant. 

"  The  storm  increased,  and  I  spent  the  night  at  the 
Agency,  lying  on,,  the  bed  of  boughs,  covered  with  a 
blanket.  The  house  shook  in  the  gale,  the  shutters 
rattled,  and  all  the  floors  near  and  far  creaked  as 
though  feet  were  walking  over  them.  I  was  wakeful 
and  restless,  but  Jacques  slept  quietly,  and  did  not  stir 
until  daylight  broke  over  the  stormy  water,  showing 
the  ships  scudding  by  under  bare  poles,  and  the  dis 
tant  mail-boat  laboring  up  toward  the  island  through 
the  heavy  sea.  My  host  made  his  toilet,  washing 
and  shaving  himself  carefully,  and  putting  on  his  old 
clothes  as  though  going  on  parade.  Then  came  break 
fast,  with  a  stew  added  in  honor  of  my  presence  ;  and 
as  by  this  time  the  steamer  was  not  far  from  Eound 
Island,  I  started  down  toward  the  little  post-office, 
anxious  to  receive  some  expected  letters.  The  steamer 
came  in  slowly,  the  mail  was  distributed  slowly,  and  I 
stopped  to  read  my  letters  before  returning.  I  had 
a  picture-paper  for  Jacques,  and  as  I  looked  out  across 
the  straits,  I  saw  that  the  storm  was  over,  and  decided 
to  return  to  the  Chenaux  in  the  afternoon,  leaving 
word  with  my  half-breeds  to  have  the  sail- boat  in 
readiness  at  three  o'clock.  The  sun  was  throwing  out 
a  watery  gleam  as,  after  the  lapse  of  an  hour  or  two,  I 
walked  up  the  limestone  road  and  entered  the  great 


THE  OLD  AGENCY.  205 

gate  of  the  Agency,  As  I  came  through  the  garden 
along  the  cherry-tree  avenue  I  saw  Jacques  sitting  on 
that  bench  in  the  sun,  for  this  was  his  hour  for  sun 
shine  ;  his  staff  was  in  his  hand,  and  he  was  leaning 
back  against  the  side  of  the  house  with  his  eyes  closed, 
as  if  in  revery.  *  Jacques,  here  is  a  picture-paper  for 
you;  I  said,  laying  my  hand  on  his  shoulder.  He  did 
not  answer.  He  was  dead. 

"  Alone,  sitting  in  the  sunshine,  apparently  without 
a  struggle  or  a  pang,  the  soul  of  the  old  soldier  had 
departed.  Whither  ?  We  know  not.  But  —  smile  if 
you  will,  madame  —  I  trust  he  is  with  his  Emperor." 

I  did  not  smile ;  my  eyes  were  too  full  of  tears. 

"I  buried  him,  as  he  wished,"  continued  Father 
Piret,  "  in  his  old  uniform,  with  the  picture  of  Napo 
leon  laid  on  his  breast,  the  sabre  by  his  side,  and  the 
withered  sprig  in  his  lifeless  hand.  He  lies  in  our 
little  cemetery  on  the  height,  near  the  shadow  of 
the  great  cross;  the  low  white  board  tablet  at  the 
head  of  the  mound  once  bore  the  words  'Grenadier 
Jacques,'  but  the  rains  and  the  snows  have  washed 
away  the  painted  letters.  It  is  as  well." 

The  priest  paused,  and  we  both  looked  toward  the 
empty  bench,  as  though  we  saw  a  figure  seated  there, 
staff  in  hand.  After  a  time  my  little  hostess  came 
out  on  to  the  piazza,  and  we  all  talked  together  of 
the  island  and  its  past.  "My  boat  is  waiting,"  said 
Father  Piret  at  length ;  "  the  wind  is  fair,  and  I  must 


206  THE  OLD  AGENCY. 

return  to  the  Chenaux  to-night.  This  near  departure 
is  my  excuse  for  coming  twice  in  one  day  to  see  you, 
madame." 

"  Stay  over,  my  dear  sir,"  I  urged.  "  I  too  shall 
leave  in  another  day.  We  may  not  meet  again." 

"  Not  on  earth ;  but  in  another  world  we  may," 
answered  the  priest,  rising  as  he  spoke. 

"  Father,  your  blessing,"  said  the  little  hostess  in  a 
low  tone,  after  a  quick  glance  toward  the  many  win 
dows  through  which  the  bulwarks  of  Protestantism 
might  be  gazing.  But  all  was  dark,  both  without  and 
within,  and  the  Father  gave  his  blessing  to  both  of  us, 
fervently,  but  with  an  apostolic  simplicity.  Then  he 
left  us,  and  I  watched  his  tall  form,  crowned  with 
silvery  hair,  as  he  passed  down  the  cherry-tree  avenue. 
Later  in  the  evening  the  moon  came  out,  and  I  saw  a 
Mackinac  boat  skimming  by  the  house,  its  white  sails 
swelling  full  in  the  fresh  breeze. 

"  That  is  Father  Piret's  boat,"  said  my  hostess. 
"  The  wind  is  fair ;  he  will  reach  the  Chenaux  before 
midnight." 

A  day  later,  and  I  too  sailed  away.  As  the  steamer 
bore  me  southward,  I  looked  back  toward  the  island 
with  a  sigh.  Half  hidden  in  its  wild  green  garden 
I  saw  the  old  Agency;  first  I  could  distinguish  its 
whole  rambling  length  ;  then  I  lost  the  roofless  piazza, 
then  the  dormer-windows,  and  finally  I  could  only 
discern  the  white  chimneys,  with  their  crumbling 


THE  OLD  AGENCY.  207 

crooked  tops.  The  sun  sank  into  the  Strait  off  Wau- 
goschance,  the  evening  gun  flashed  from  the  little  fort 
on  the  height,  the  shadows  grew  dark  and  darker,  the 
island  turned  into  green  foliage,  then  a  blue  outline, 
and  finally  there  was  nothing  but  the  dusky  water. 


MISERY  LANDING. 


TOWAED  the  western  end  of  Lake  Superior  there 
is  a  group  of  islands,  twenty-three  in  number, 
called  the  "Twelve  Apostles."  One  more  and  the 
Apostles  might  have  had  two  apiece.  But  although 
Apostles  taken  together,  officially,  as  it  were,  they  have 
personal  names  of  a  very  different  character,  such  as 
"Cat,"  "Eagle,"  "Bear,"  "Devil,"  etc.  Whether  the 
Jesuit  fathers  who  first  explored  this  little  archipelago 
had  any  symbolical  ideas  connected  with  these  animals 
we  know  not,  but  they  were  wise  enough  to  appreciate 
the  beauty  of  the  group,  and  established  a  little  church 
and  Indian  college  upon  the  southernmost  point  of  the 
southernmost  island  as  early  as  1680.  A  village  grew 
slowly  into  existence  on  this  point,  —  very  slowly, 
since  one  hundred  and  ninety-two  years  later  it  was 
still  a  village,  and  less  than  a  village ;  the  Catholic 
church  and  adjoining  buildings,  the  house  of  the  In 
dian  agent,  and  the  United  States  warehouse,  stored 
full  at  payment  time,  one  store,  and  the  cabins  of  the 
fishermen  and  trappers,  comprised  the  whole.  Two 


MISERY   LANDING.  209 

miles  to  the  eastward  rose  a  bold  promontory,  running 
far  out  into  the  bay,  and  forming  the  horizon  line  on 
that  side.  Perched  upon  the  edge  of  this  promontory, 
outlined  against  the  sky,  stood  a  solitary  house.  The 
pine  forest  stopped  abruptly  behind  it,  the  cliff  broke 
off  abruptly  in  front,  and  for  a  long  distance  up  and 
down  the  coast  there  was  no  beach  or  landing-place. 
This  spot  was  "  Misery  Landing,"  so  called  because 
there  was  no  landing  there,  not  even  a  miserable  one, 
—  at  least  that  was  what  John  Jay  said  when  he  first 
saw  the  place.  The  inconsistency  pleased  him,  and 
forthwith  he  ordered  a  cabin  built  on  the  edge  of 
the  cliff,  taking  up  his  abode  meanwhile  in  the  village, 
and  systematically  investigating  the  origin  of  the  name. 
He  explored  the  upper  circle,  consisting  of  the  Indian 
agent,  the  storekeeper,  and  the  priests ;  but  they  could 
tell  him  nothing.  A  priest  more  imaginative  than  the 
rest  hastily  improvised  a  legend  about  some  miserable 
sinner,  but  John  refused  to  accept  the  obvious  fraud. 
The  second  circle,  consisting  of  fishermen,  voyageurs, 
and  half-breed  trappers,  knew  nothing  save  the  fact 
that  the  name  belonged  to  the  point  before  their  day. 
The  third  circle,  consisting  of  unadulterated  Indian,  pro 
duced  the  item  that  the  name  was  given  by  a  white 
man  as  long  ago  as  the  days  of  their  great-grandfathers. 
Who  the  white  man  was  and  what  his  story  no  one 
knew,  and  John  was  at  liberty  to  imagine  anything  he 

pleased.     The  cabin   built,  he  took  possession  of  his 
14 


210  MISERY  LANDING. 

eyrie.  It  was  fortified  by  a  high  stockade  across  the 
land  side ;  the  other  three  sides  were  sheer  cliffs  rising 
from  the  deep  water.  Directly  in  front  of  the  house, 
however,  a  rope-ladder  was  suspended  over  the  cliff, 
strongly  fastened  at  the  top,  but  hanging  loose  at  the 
bottom  within  two  feet  of  the  water;  so,  in  spite  of 
nature's  obstacles,  he  had  a  landing-place  at  Misery 
after  all.  Extracts  from  his  diary  will  best  tell  his 
story ':  — 

"June  15,  1872.  —  Settled  at  last  in  my  cabin  at 
Misery  Landing.  Now,  indeed,  I  feel  myself  free  from 
the  frivolity,  the  hypocrisy,  the  evil,  the  cowardice,  and 
the  falsity  of  the  world.  Now  I  can  live  close  to 
nature ;  now  I  can  throw  off  the  habits  of  cities,  and 
mentally  and  physically  be  a  irian ;  not  a  puppet, 
not  a  fashion-plate,  but  a  man !  Here  I  have  all  that 
life  holds  of  real  worth,  the  sun,  the  free  winds  of 
heaven,  the  broad  water,  the  woods,  the  flowers,  the 
birds,  and  the  wild  animals,  whom  I  welcome  as  my 
fellows.  True-Heart,  my  dog,  shall  be  my  companion, 
—  ah,  how  much  more  trustworthy  than  a  human 
friend ! 

"June  16.  —  Have  cooked  and  eaten  my  solitary 
supper,  and  now,  with  Sweet-Silence,  my  pipe,  breath 
ing  out  fragrance,  and  True-Heart  lying  at  my  feet,  I 
take  up  my  pen.  First  I  will  describe  my  cabin.  The 
people  of  the  village  are  full  of  wonder  over  its  marvels, 
and  the  stockade  is  none  too  high  to  keep  them  out. 


MISERY  LANDING.  211 

They  cannot  understand  why  I  have  no  gate.  '  Don't 
you  see,  we  never  can  come  out  to  call  on  you  in  the 
evening  if  we  have  to  take  a  boat,  come  round  by 
water,  and  climb  up  that  dizzy  ladder/  they  say.  It 
never  occurs  to  them  that  possibly  that  is  what  I 
intend.  My  cabin  is  made  of  logs,  well  chinked  and 
plastered;  it  is  one  large  square  room,  with  a  deep 
chimney  at  each  end,  the  western  half  curtained  off 
as  a  sleeping-apartment.  There  is  only  one  door,  and 
that  is  in  front,  where  there  are  also  two  large  windows 
looking  off  over  the  lake ;  on  the  other  three  sides  the 
windows  are  high  up,  and  filled  with  painted  glass. 
I  can  look  out  only  upon  the  boundless  water,  and  only 
toward  the  eastward.  In  this  respect  I  am  as  devout 
as  any  ascetic.  The  question  arises,  Did  n't  the  ascetics 
have  the  best  of  it,  after  all  ?  I  am  inclined  to  think 
they  fled  away  into  the  wilderness  to  get  rid  of 
feminine  frivolity  and  falsity,  just  as  I  have  done; 
they  were  ashamed  of  their  own  weakness,  just  as  I 
am ;  and  they  resolved  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  the 
accursed  beautiful  images,  who  are  fickle  because  such 
is  their  nature.  Why  should  we  expect  vanes  to  re 
main  stationary  ? 

"  I  have  a  luxurious  bed,  a  hair-mattress  suspended 
in  a  hammock.  Here,  when  the  red  curtains  are 
down  and  the  fire  has  burned  into  red  coals,  I  fall 
asleep,  lulled  by  the  sighing  of  the  wind  among  the 
pine-trees,  the  rush  of  the  rain  upon  the  roof,  or  the 


212  MISERY  LANDING. 

boom  of  the  surf  at  the  foot  of  the  cliffs.  Ah,  Misery 
Landing,  thou  art  indeed  a  rest  for  the  weary ! 

"June  17. —  I  have  been  looking  over  my  books, 
and  smiling  at  their  selection;  they  represent  eras  in 
my  life.  There 's  St.  Francis  de  Sales,  Thomas  a 
Kempis,  a  quantity  of  mediaeval  Latin  hymns,  to 
gether  with  Tennyson's  'Sir  Galahad,'  superbly  illus 
trated.  Heaven  help  me !  I  thought  I  was  a  Sir 
Galahad  myself  once  upon  a  time.  But  I  got  bravely 
over  that,  it  seems,  since  the  next  series  is  'all  for 
love.'  0  Petrarch,  and  ye  of  that  ilk,  how  I  sighed 
over  your  pages !  Then  comes  a  dash  of  French, 
cynical,  exquisite  in  detail,  glittering,  brilliant,  —  the 
refinement  of  selfishness;  then  a  soar  into  the  cloud- 
land  of  Germany,  and  a  wrestle  with  philosophy, 
coming  down  into  modern  rationalism,  Darwin,  Hux 
ley,  and  the  like,  each  phase  represented  by  a  single 
volume,  the  one  which  for  some  unexplained  reason 
happened  to  impress  me  the  most.  And  what  is  the 
last  book  of  all  ?  Bret  Harte.  Not  his  verse,  but 
his  deep-hearted  prose.  After  all,  as  long  as  I  can 
read  his  pages,  I  cannot  be  so  bad  as  I  seem,  since, 
to  my  idea,  there  is  more  of  goodness  and  generosity 
and  courage  in  his  words  than  in  many  a  sermon. 
He  shows  us  the  good  in  the  heart  of  the  outcast. 
I  wonder  if  I  am  an  outcast. 

"June  29. —  It  is  a  fine  thing  to  have  money. 
Poverty  pur  et  simple  is  not  adapted  to  the  cultiva- 


MISERY   LANDING.  213 

tion  of  either  soul,  mind,  or  body.  I  have  been 
cultivating  the  last  named.  The  truth  is,  I  felt  blue, 
and  so  I  ordered  out  the  hunters  and  fishermen,  sent 
for  old  Lize  the  cook,  and  held  a  royal  feast.  It 
lasted  for  days,  Indian  fashion.  I  did  nothing  but 
eat,  sleep,  and  smoke.  Sweet-Silence  and  True-Heart 
were  my  companions ;  the  riffraff  who  ate  the  frag 
ments  camped  outside  in  the  forest,  and  Lize  had. 
orders  to  throw  them  supplies  over  the  stockade. 
She  herself  was  ordered  not  to  speak,  and  to  depart 
at  nightfall,  leaving  a  store  of  well-cooked  viands 
behind  her.  With  my  rare  old  wines,  my  delicate 
canned,  potted,  and  preserved  stores  of  all  kinds,  I 
passed  a  luxurious  week.  I  thought  of  Francesca: 
she  would  have  entered  into  it  with  all  her  heart, 
(by  the  way,  has  she  a  heart?)  but  she  would  have 
required  velvet  robes  and  a  chair  draped  with  ermine 
before  she  would  condescend  to  give  herself  as  an 
adjunct  to  the  scene.  Sybarite !  But  why  should  I 
cast  scorn  upon  her?  Can  she  help  her  nature? 
She  is  so  beautiful  that  she  seeks  luxury  as  a  rose 
seeks  sunshine.  Ease  is  the  natural  condition  of  her 
being.  Is  it  any  wonder,  then,  that  she  longed  for 
my  wealth  ?  But  I  had  the  insane  fancy  to  be 
loved  for  myself  alone ;  and  so,  having  found  her  out, 
I  left  her  forever. 

"  July  9.  —  I  have  been  studying  the  wild-flowers 
of  this  region;  equipped  for  botanizing,  I  have  spent 


214  MISEKY  LANDING. 

days  in  the  forest.  I  shall  commence  a  complete 
collection.  This  is  indeed  living  close  to  nature. 

"July  15. —  Flowers  are  but  inanimate  things,  after 
all,  the  toys  of  vegetation.  It  has  been  said  that  all 
naturalists  are  what  they  are  because  they  have  been 
the  victims  of  some  heart  disappointment,  which  means, 
I  suppose,  that  they  take  up  with  the  less  because  they 
cannot  have  the  greater. 

"  July  20.  —  Thoreau  found  the  climbing  fern,  and  I, 
too,  have  found  a  rare  and  unique  plant !  Who  knows 
but  that  it  may  carry  my  name  down  to  posterity ! 

"  July  25.  —  It  is  n't  rare  at  all.  It  is  the  same  old 
Indian  pipe,  or  monotropa,  masquerading  under  a  new 
disguise.  And  as  to  posterity,  who  cares  for  it  ?  As 
the  Englishman  said  in  Parliament,  'My  lords  and 
gentlemen,  I  hear  a  great  deal  said  here  about  pos 
terity,  but  let  me  ask,  frankly,  what  has  posterity  ever 
done  for  us  ? ' 

"August  1.  —  They  say  you  can  teach  birds  to  come 
at  your  call.  There  was  a  bird  girl  in  Teverino,  I 
remember.  Will  begin  to-day. 

"  August  15.  —  It  can't  be  clone.     Am  going  fishing. 

"August  16.  — On  the  whole,  I  don't  like  fishing. 
Dying  agonies  are  not  cheerful.  Have  been  painting 
a  little  for  the  first  time  in  months.  It  seems  as  if 
poverty  was  the  sine  qua  non  in  painting:  all  great 
artists  are  poor. 

"August   25. —Painting   for  days.      Have  painted 


MISERY  LANDING.  215 

Francesca  as  she  looked  that  night  at  the  opera.  She 
was  leaning  forward,  with  parted  lips  and  starry  eyes, 
her  golden  hair  shining  on  the  velvet  of  her  robe,  a 
rose-flush  on  her  cheek,  pearls  on  her  full  white  throat. 
I  sat  in  the  shadow  watching  her.  '  She  is  moved  by 
the  pathos  of  the  scene,'  I  thought,  as  I  noted  the 
absorbed  expression.  I  spoke  to  her,  and  drew  out 
the  whole.  '0,  the  perfection  of  that  drapery!'  she 
murmured ;  '  the  exquisite  pattern  of  that  lace ! ' 

"  August  26.  —  There  is  no  doubt  but  that  she  was 
royally  beautiful.  I  could  have  stood  it,  I  think,  or 
rather  I  fear,  if  she  had  condescended  so  far  as  even 
to  pretend  to  love  me.  But  she  simply  did  not  know 
how.  A  woman  of  more  brain  would  have  deceived 
me,  but  Francesca  never  tried.  No  merit  to  her, 
though,  for  that.  Am  going  hunting. 

"  /September  1.  —  In  the  village  to-day.  For  curiosity, 
went  into  the  old  Catholic  church.  It  is  anchored 
down  to  the  rocks,  covered  with  lichen  on  the  out 
side,  and  decked  with  tinsel  within.  The  priests  were 
chanting  horribly  out  of  tune,  and  the  ignorant,  dirty 
congregation  mumbled  their  prayers  while  they  stared 
open-mouthed  at  me.  There  was  a  homely  little  girl 
kneeling  near  me  who  did  not  glance  up,  the  only 
person  who  did  not.  A  homely  woman  is  a  complete 
mistake,  always :  a  woman  should  always  be  beautiful, 
as  a  man  should  always  be  strong. 

"  September  5.  —  The  homely  little  girl  was   there 


216  MISERY  LANDING. 

again  to-day.  She  is  slight,  thin,  and  dark;  her 
features  are  irregular;  her  dark  hair  braided  closely 
around  her  small  head.  Ah !  what  glorious  waves  of 
gold  flowed  over  Francesea's  shoulders ! 

"  September  10.  —  The  fall  storms  are  upon  us ;  the 
wind  is  howling  overhead,  and  the  waves  roaring  be 
low.  But  what  a  strange  sense  of  comfort  there  is  in 
it  all !  I  was  sitting  before  the  fire  last  evening  smok 
ing  Sweet-Silence,  and  deep  in  a  delicious  revery. 
Suddenly  there  came  a  knock  at  the  door.  I  was 
startled.  The  rain  was  pouring  down  in  torrents;  it 
seemed  as  though  no  human  foot  could  have  climbed 
the  swaying  ladder  in  front  of  my  hermitage.  I  opened 
the  door,  half  hoping  that  the  Prince  of  the  Powers 
of  the  Air  had  come  to  pay  me  a  visit,  and  I  resolved 
to  entertain  him  royally.  But  no  mighty,  potent  spirit 
was  on  my  threshold;  only  a  slim  youth,  drenched 
and  pallid,  with  large  pale  eyes  and  pinched  features. 
He  said  nothing,  but  gazed  at  me  imploringly,  while 
the  water  dripped  from  every  bony  angle.  Evidently 
this  was  no  devil  of  jovial  tastes ;  he  was  more  like  a 
washed-out  cherub  in  the  process  of  awkward  growth 
toward  full  angelhood. 

" '  What  do  you  want  ? '  I  said.  He  did  not  answer, 
and  somewhat  roughly  I  drew  him  in ;  I  never  could 
endure  to  see  anything  shiver.  Then  I  closed  the  door, 
and  resumed  my  warm  seat  and  Sweet-Silence,  turning 
my  back  upon  the  interloper ;  he  was  welcome  to  ev- 


MISEKY   LANDING.  217 

erything  save  my  own  personality,  —  let  him  warm 
himself  and  eat  or  sleep,  but  me  he  must  not  approach. 
But  minutes  passed;  the  creature  neither  moved  nor 
spoke,  and  his  very  silence  was  more  offensive  to  me 
than  loud-tongued  importunity.  At  length  it  so 
wrought  upon  me  that,  angry  with  myself  for  being 
unable  to  banish  his  miserable  presence  from  my 
thoughts,  I  turned  sharply  around  and  confronted 
him.  He  had  not  moved,  standing  on  the  exact  spot 
where  I  had  left  him,  shivering  and  dumb,  with  the 
rain  dripping  in  chilly  little  pools  upon  the  floor. 
There  were  holes  in  his  wet  old  boots;  I  could  see 
his  blue- white  skin  gleaming  through ;  he  had  no 
stockings,  and  no  shirt  under  his  ragged  coat,  held 
together  over  his  narrow  chest  with  long  thin  fin 
gers. 

"'Stop  shivering,  you  horrible  image  of  despair/  I 
called  out. 

" '  Please,  sir,  I  can't  help  it,'  he  answered,  humbly. 
Well,  of  course  I  went  to  work ;  I  knew  I  should  all 
the  time,  —  I  always  do.  I  got  him  into  warm  dry 
clothes,  I  fed  him,  I  made  him  drink  spiced  wine,  I 
gave  him  my  own  easy-chair.  Then,  stretching  out 
fleecy  stockings  and  slippers  upon  the  hearth,  in  the 
plenitude  of  warmth  and  comfort,  gradually  the  crea 
ture  unfolded  all  his  lank  length,  and  thawed  into 
speech.  His  name  was  George  Washington  Brown, 
his  tribe  Yankee,  his  state  orphanage,  his  condition 


218  MISERY  LANDING. 

poverty,  his  trouble  a  malarial  chill  and  fever,  which 
haunted  him  and  devoured  what  poor  strength  his 
rapid  growth  had  left.  On  the  mainland  hunting,  the 
storm  had  kept  him  until,  his  provisions  exhausted, 
half  fainting  with  hunger,  he  essayed  to  cross  back  to 
the  village ;  but  his  sail  was  torn  away,  he  lost  an  oar, 
and,  drifting  hopelessly,  chance  sent  him  ashore  on  the 
iron-bound  coast  just  where  my  rope-ladder  struck  his 
face  in  the  darkness  of  the  stormy  night.  He  knew 
then  where  he  was.  He  had  been  drifting  twenty-four 
hours.  The  ascent  was  perilous,  for  the  ladder  swung 
him  about  like  a  cork  on  a  line,  but  desperately  he 
clung,  and  so  reached  my  door  at  last.  Poor  wretch ! 
It  was  a  sight  to  see  him  take  in  comfort  at  every 
pore.  'You  may  stay  until  the  storm  goes  down,'  I 
said. 

"September  15.  —  The  storm  has  gone  down,  but  he 
is  here  still. 

"September  18.  —  He  knows  nothing.  He  cannot 
read,  he  cannot  write ;  he  has  never  heard  of  Shake 
speare,  of  Eaphael,  of  Napoleon,  or  even  of  his  own 
sponsor,  Washington,  beyond  the  fact  that  he  '  heard 
tell  as  how  Washington  was  a  wery  good  sort  of  a 
man ' ;  he  has  never  seen  anything  but  Lake  Supe 
rior,  he  knows  nothing  of  geography,  he  has  Joshua's 
ideas  of  the  heavenly  bodies,  and  he  believes  in 
ghosts ;  he  has  heard  of  Grant,  and  vaguely  remem 
bers  that  Lincoln  was  killed;  he  has  never  seen 


MISERY  LANDING.  219 

.'niggers/  but  is  glad,  on  general  principles,  that  they 
are  free.  I  have  told  him  that  he  may  stay  here  a 
month. 

"  September  28.  —  I  played  simple  tunes  on  my  vio 
lin  last  evening,  and  the  boy  was  moved  to  tears. 
I  shall  teach  him  to  play,  I  think. 

"September  30. —Another  gale.  I  read  aloud  last 
evening.  George  did  not  seem  much  interested  in 
Bret  Harte,  but  was  captivated  with  the  pageantry 
of  '  Ivanhoe.'  Strange  that  it  should  be  so,  but  every 
where  it  is  the  cultivated  people  only  who  are  taken 
with  Bret.  But  they  must  be  imaginative  as  well 
as  cultivated;  routine  people,  whether  in  life  or  in 
literature,  dislike  anything  unconventional  or  new. 

"  October  28.  —  Have  been  so  occupied  that  I  could 
not  write.  George  has  gone  over  to  the  village  to 
church  to-day.  He  is  a  good  Catholic,  and  I  have 
resisted  the  temptation  to  trouble  his  faith,  so  far. 
I  drew  and  colored  a  picture  for  him  yesterday,  and 
ever  since  he  has  been  wild  to  have  me  paint  the 
likeness  of  some  one  in  the  village.  He  does  not 
say  who,  but  I  suspect  it  is  one  of  the  priests.  I 
am  teaching  him  to  read  and  write. 

"  November  2.  —  George  did  not  return  until  the  next 
morning,  and  then  who  should  the  boy  bring  with 
him  but  that  homely  girl!  (This  is  Marthy/  he 
said ;  '  she  's  come  to  be  painted,  governor.'  To  please 
him,  I  began.  The  girl  sat  down  with  quiet  com- 


220  MISERY  LANDING. 

posure ;  no  fine  city  lady  could  have  been  more  un 
concerned.  She  must  be  about  seventeen. 

"  November  7.  —  George  brings  her  out  in  the  boat 
every  day,  and  takes  her  back  at  night;  but  ice  is 
forming  now,  and  he  must  find  some  other  way. 
While  I  paint  he  cooks  the  dinner,  and  serves  it 
with  the  most  delicate  of  my  stores.  Martha  presides 
at  the  feast  with  a  quaint  little  dignity  peculiarly 
her  own.  She  is  a  colorless,  undeveloped  child.  A 
picture  of  her  will  be  like  a  shadow  on  the  wall. 

"  November  9.  —  Cold  and  stormy.  I  am  alone. 
George  has  gone  to  the  village.  Have  been  reading 
Shakespeare.  Booth  plays  Hamlet  wonderfully  well; 
but  why  is  it  that  he  never  has  a  fair  Ophelia  ?  It 
looks  too  much  like  method  in  his  madness  when  he 
leaves  her  so  easily.  Ophelia  should  be  slight  and 
young,  with  timid  eyes,  and  delicate,  colorless  com 
plexion.  She  should  be  without  guile,  innocent, 
ignorant  of  the  world.  At  least  that  is  rny  idea  of 
her. 

"November  11.  — Little  Martha  can  sing.  She  has  a 
sweet,  fresh,  untrained  voice,  and  now  while  I  paint 
she  sings  song  after  song.  I  am  making  quite  an 
elaborate  picture,  after  all.  It  will  serve  as  a  souvenir 
of  Misery  Landing." 

Here  the  diary  ends,  and  the  narrator  takes  up 
the  tale.  One  evening  in  April,  five  months  later, 
when  the  wild  spring  winds  were  sweeping  through 


MISERY  LANDING.  221 

the  sky,  and  the  snow-drifts  were  beginning  to  sink, 
John  Jay  and  his  proteg^  sat  together  before  the  fire 
in  the  cabin  on  the  point. 

"  But,  George,"  said  the  gentleman,  "  think  of  all  I 
offer  you,  —  education,  a  chance  to  see  the  world,  a 
certainty  of  comfort  for  all  your  life.  If  it  is  myself 
you  object  to,  I  will  leave  you  entirely  independent 
of  me." 

"  'T  is  n't*  you,  governor  ;  I  'in  mighty  fond  of  you. 
I  s'pose  ye 're  like  what  my  father  ud  have  been  ef 
he'd  lived." 

"No,  no,  George.  Your  father  would  have  been  a 
much  older  man  than  I  am.  I  am  not  thirty-five  yet." 

"And  I  am  not  twenty-one.  What  was  you  like 
when  you  was  young,  governor  ? " 

"  Very  much  what  I  am  now,  I  suppose." 

"  0  no  ;  that  could  n't  be,  you  know.  Why,  you  Ve 
got  wrinkles,  and  some  gray  hairs,  and  such  a  tremen- 
jous  mus-tash,  you  have !  Marthy  says  she 's  never 
seen  the  like," 

"  She  does  not  admire  it  ? " 

"My!  no.  I  say,  governor,  she's  got  a  nice  little 
face,  now  has  n't  she  ?  " 

"  Eeally,  I  am  no  judge  of  that  style,  George.  But 
look,  I  will  show  you  a  lovely  lady  I  once  knew. 
There  are  many  such  faces  out  in  the  world,  and  you 
can  see  them  for  yourself  if  you  will  go  to  school  and 
college  as  I  wish." 


222  MISERY  LANDING. 

Eising,  the  gentleman  brought  out  the  glowing  pic 
ture  of  Francesca  at  the  opera.  The  boor  gazed  at 
it  with  wide-open  eyes.  "  It 's  some  queen,  I  reckon/' 
he  said  at  length. 

"  No,  it  is  a  beautiful  lady,  and  you  shall  know  her, 
her  very  self,  if  you  please.  Look  at  the  waves  of 
her  golden  hair,  her  starry  eyes,  her  velvet  skin  with 
its  rose-leaf  glow.  See  her  head,  her  bearing,  her  ex 
quisite  royal  beauty.  Look,  look  with  all  your  eyes, 
boy,  and  think  that  you  too  can  see  and  love  her." 

The  boor  gazed  as  the  gentleman  pointed  out  each 
beauty.  "  It 's  mighty  grand,  it 's  powerful  fine,"  he 
said  at  last,  drawing  a  long  breath.  "But  arter  all, 
governor,  Marthy  is  sweeter  nor  "her ! " 

Another  time  the  conversation  ran  as  follows  :  — 

"  Yes,  George,  that  is  floating  on  the  Nile,  just  as  I 
have  told  you,  with  the  palm-trees,  the  gorgeous  flow 
ers,  the  brilliant  birds,  the  temples,  and  the  strange 
Pyramids.  You  shall  see  the  Bedouins  of  the  desert ; 
you  shall  ride  on  Arabian  horses ;  you  shall  study  the 
secrets  of  the  Old  World  in  their  very  birthplace. 
Isn't  that  better  than  living  forever  on  this  cold 
coast,  with  only  your  own  two  hands  between  your 
self  and  starvation?" 

George  looked  down  slowly  at  his  hands,  spreading 
them  open  on  his  knees  for  a  clearer  view.  "  Can't 
Marthy  go  with  me,  governor?"  he  said,  wistfully. 

"I  tell  you,  no.     You  must  give  her  up.     She  is 


MISERY  LANDING.  223 

as  ignorant  as  you  were  before  I  knew  you,  and,  being 
a  woman,  she  cannot  learn,  or  rather  unlearn." 

"  Can't  women-folks  learn  ?  "  said  George,  wonder- 
ingly. 

"  No,"  thundered  the  governor ;  "  they  are  an  inferior 
race ;  by  nature  they  must  be  either  tyrants  or  slaves, 
—  tyrants  to  the  weak,  slaves  to  the  strong.  The  wise 
man  chains  them  down;  the  chains  may  be  gilded, 
but  none  the  less  must  they  be  chains." 

"Well,  then,  governor,"  replied  the  youth,  simply, 
"I'll  just  take  Marthy  with  me  as  my  slave.  It' nil 
do  as  long  as  I  have  her  some  way;  and  seeing  as 
we  're  going  to  Africa,  it  ull  be  all  right,  won't  it  ? " 

"  Why  do  you  want  her,  George  ? "  said  the  gentle- 
man,  abruptly.  "She  is  not  beautiful;  she  is  utterly 
ignorant." 

"  I  know  it,  governor." 

"  And  she  does  not  love  you." 

"  I  know  that  too,"  said  the  boy,  dejectedly.  "  But 
the  point  of  the  thing  is  just  here :  she  may  not  love 
me,  but,  governor,  I  love  her,  —  love  her  so  much  that 
I  can't  live  without  her." 

"  Nonsense  !  Boys  always  think  so.  Try  it  for  six 
months,  George,  and  you  '11  find  I  am  right." 

"  Not  for  six  days,  governor.  I  jest  could  n't,"  said 
the  youth,  in  a  tone  of  miserable  conviction.  The 
tears  stood  in  his  pale  eyes,  and  he  shifted  his  long 
limbs  uneasily. 


224  MISERY  LANDING. 

"  Don't  squirm,"  ejaculated  the  gentleman,  sternly, 
glowering  at  him  over  Sweet-Silence.  "  I  'm  afraid 
you  're  a  fool,  George,"  he  continued,  after  a  pause. 

"  I  'm  afraid  so  too,  governor." 

Then  John  Jay  took  the  girl  into  his  confidence. 
"  What,  go  away ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  George  to  go 
away !  And  you,  sir  ? " 

"  I  am  quite  attached  to  the  boy,"  said  the  gentle 
man,  ignoring  her  question.  "  Why  I  call  him  a  boy 
I  scarcely  know ;  I  myself  am  not  thirty-five,  Martha." 

"  And  I  am  not  seventeen,  sir." 

"  A  woman  is  a  woman.  But  never  mind  that  now. 
What  I  want  to  know  is  whether  you  are  willing  he 
should  go  ? " 

"  0  yes,  sir ;  it  will  be  for  his  good.     But  you  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  whether  I  shall  go  or  not,"  replied 
the  gentleman,  gazing  down  into  the  timid,  upraised 
eyes.  Then  he  told  her  of  the  outside  world,  and  all 
its  knowledge,  all  its  splendor;  this  was  what  he 
intended  for  George.  The  maiden  listened,  spell 
bound. 

"It  will  be  beautiful  for  him,"  she  murmured. 
"Yes,  he  must  go.  I  shall  make  him." 

"Will  he  do  as  you  say,  Martha?" 

"  0  yes ;  he  always  does  !  " 

"  But  this  time  it  will  be  different." 

"How  different?" 

"He  must  leave  you  behind." 


MISERY  LANDING.  225 

"  0,  as  to  that,  sir,  /  do  not  want  to  go.  I  shall  tell 
him  so." 

"  But  perhaps  he  will  not  go  without  you." 

The  girl  laughed  merrily,  showing  little  white  teeth 
like  pearls.  "  Poor  old  George  ! "  she  said,  dismissing, 
as  it  were,  with  a  wave  of  her  small  brown  hand  the 
absent  boy-lover.  Her  tone  jarred  some  chord  in  the 
gentleman's  breast;  he  rose,  bade  her  good  evening 
ceremoniously,  and  opened  the  door.  She  lingered, 
but  he  stood  silent.  At  last,  subdued  and  timid  again, 
she  took  up  her  little  basket  and  hurried  away.  But 
hours  afterward,  when  John  Jay  went  out,  according 
to  his  custom,  to  smoke  Sweet-Silence  in  the  open 
evening  air,  a  small  dark  object  was  sitting  on  the 
edge  of  the  cliff.  He  approached;  it  was  Martha. 

"  0  sir,"  she  said,  "  you  are  not  going  away  ?  Say 
you  are  not!  0  say  you  are  not!" 

"  What  if  I  am  ? "  said  the  gentleman,  abruptly. 

"  0  sir !  0  —  "     And  the  tears  came. 

"  Go  home,  child ! "  said  the  man,  leading  her 
toward  the  stockade.  There  was  a  postern-gate  there 
now.  She  went  obediently;  but  at  the  edge  of  the 
wood  she  paused,  and  wiped  her  eyes  with  her  apron 
in  order  to  see  him  plainly  as  he  stood  outlined  in  the 
gateway  against  the  clear  evening  sky.  The  gentleman 
closed  the  gate  with  violence,  and  went  back  into  the 
house. 

Not  one  word  more  said  John  Jay  to  his  protege* 
15 


226  MISERY  LANDING. 

on  the  subject  of  education  and  travel.  But  Martha 
took  up  the  song,  and  chanted  it  in  every  key,  with 
all  her  woman's  wit  to  aid  her.  George  grew  pale 
and  sad  and  restless.  He  could  settle  to  nothing ;  his 
gun,  traps,  and  tackle,  his  kettles  and  frying-pans,  his 
books  and  music,  were  all  neglected.  Every  day  he 
saw  Martha,  and  every  day  she  had  a  new  way  of 
presenting  the  hateful  subject.  Every  day  he  tried  to 
speak  the  words  that  choked  him,  and  every  day  he 
failed,  and  parted  from  her  in  silent  misery. 

One  morning  they  were  all  together  in  the  cabin. 

"  When  you  come  back,  George,  I  suppose  you  '11 
have  a  great  mustache,  like  Mr.  Jay's,"  said  Martha, 
merrily.  She  had  taken  the  "  of-course-you-'re-going- 
and-it  's-all-settled  "  tone  that  day,  much  to  the  poor 
lad's  discomfiture. 

"  I  suppose  you  'd  scarcely  say,  '  How  d'  ye  do  ? ' 
then,"  answered  George.  Then,  with  a  sudden  rush 
of  boldness,  "  I  say,  Marthy,"  he  burst  forth,  "  ef  I  do 
go,  will  you  give  me  a  kiss  for  good-by?" 

"Of  course  I  will,"  answered  the  girl,  gayly;  and 
springing  up,  she  tripped  across  the  room,  and  lightly 
touched  his  forehead  with  her  delicate  little  lips.  The 
boy  flushed  scarlet,  and  caught  her  hands  in  an  attempt 
at  awkward  frolicking. 

"  Give  the  old  governor  one  too,"  he  said.  "  Come, 
1 11  let  you." 

The  "  old  governor "  (ah  !  so  very  old  ! )  advanced ; 


MISERY   LANDING.  227 

he  came  close  to  her;  then  he  stopped.  He  did  not 
even  touch  her  hand ;  but  for  one  moment  he  looked 
deep  down  into  her  upraised  eyes.  The  girl  drew  a 
quick,  audible  breath ;  then  turning,  she  ran  from  the 
house  like  some  shy,  startled  creature  of  the  woods. 
They  saw  her  no  more  that  day,  nor  the  next,  nor 
for  many  days.  The  boy  pined  visibly.  One  evening 
John  Jay  said,  suddenly,  "  George,  I  have  changed  my 
mind.  Martha  shall  go  with  you.  You  may  marry 
her,  and  I  will  care  for  you  both." 

"  Do  you  really  mean  it,  governor  ? " 

"  Yes ;  go  and  tell  her  so." 

Then  there  was  a  rush  out  of  the  cabin,  a  headlong 
climbing  down  the  swinging  ladder,  a  frantic  row 
across  the  bay,  and  a  wild  irruption  into  the  little 
house  on  the  beach  where  Martha  lived.  Half  an 
hour  later  the  same  whirlwind  came  back  across  the 
bay  and  up  the  ladder,  and  demanded  of  the  gov 
ernor,  "  Are  you  going  with  us  ? " 

"No,"  said  the  governor,  shortly,  and  the  whirlwind 
departed  again.  At  one  o'clock  there  came  a  feeble 
knock  at  the  barred  door.  There  stood  the  drooping 
lover,  drenched  with  the  rain  which  had  been  falling 
since  midnight.  "  What  do  you  mean  by  coming  out 
here  at  this  time  of  night,  you  uncomfortable  object  ? " 
said  the  governor,  getting  back  again  into  his  luxuri 
ous  bed. 

"  I  did  n't  know  it  was  late,  and  I  did  n't  care  for 


228  MISERY  LANDING. 

the  rain  nor  nothing,"  replied  the  truant,  recklessly; 
"  for  Marthy  she 's  gone  and  said  she  won't  go."  And 
sitting  down,  he  took  out  his  handkerchief  and  bowed 
his  pale  face  upon  it. 

"You  goose!  the  handkerchief  is  already  soaked 
with  rain,"  said  the  gentleman,  raising  himself  on  his 
elbow  to  watch  the  boy. 

"  With  tears,  governor." 

"Well,  get  a  dry  one,  take  something  to  eat  and 
drink,  and  get  into  bed  as  soon  as  possible.  She'll 
say  '  yes '  to-morrow :  they  're  all  alike." 

"  I  don't  know  any  other  girl  but  Marthy,  governor, 
and  so  I  don't  know  whether  they  're  all  alike  or  not ; 
but  Marthy  she's  vowed  she  won't  go  with  me,  and 
she  won't,  that 's  the  end  of  it !  And  as  for  eating,  I 
could  n't  touch  a  crumb ;  my  throat 's  all  choked  up." 

He  climbed  into  his  bunk,  and  turned  his  face  to  the 
wall.  There  was  no  sound ;  but  hours  afterward  John 
Jay  knew  that  the  boy  was  still  silently  weeping.  In 
the  morning  he  went  about  his  tasks,  pale  and  hag 
gard,  his  eyes  sunken,  his  mouth  drawn.  A  chill  came 
on  at  breakfast,  and  he  could  not  eat.  As,  later,  he 
studied  his  lesson,  the  fever  rose  and  mixed  with  the 
words,  until  the  page  swam  before  his  tired  eyes.  The 
gentleman  had  noted  all  silently.  Now  he  said,  u  Go 
out  into  the  open  air,  George.  Go  down  into  the  vil 
lage  and  bring  back  Martha;  say  that  I  wish  her  to 
come.  Take  heart,  boy.  Don't  give  up  so  easily." 


MISERY  LANDING.  229 

"  So  easily  !  But  it  ain't  so  easily,  governor,  Seems 
as  though  something  was  broken  inside  of  me.  How 
can  I  go  and  see  Marthy  when  —  when  —  O,  I  know 
I  'm  humly  and  poor ;  but  I  'd  work  for  her,  I  'd  take 
such  care  of  her.  O  governor,  perhaps  if  you  was  to 
speak  to  her ! " 

"  Go  and  bring  her  to  me,"  said  the  gentleman,  rising 
abruptly.  In  the  open  air  he  paced  to  and  fro.  Sweet- 
Silence  died  out  unnoticed  while  he  watched  the  boat 
moving  toward  the  village.  At  length  it  returned  with 
two  in  it ;  but  when  the  girl  entered  the  house,  with 
head  erect  and  defiant  eyes,  the  gentleman  sat  in  his 
easy-chair,  Sweet-Silence  breathing  out  a  cloud  of  in 
cense,  and  a  book  before  him,  the  picture  of  idle  con 
tentment. 

"  How  now,  little  girl,"  he  said,  gayly,  "  what  is  this 
I  hear  ?  You  do  not  want  to  go  out  into  the  bright 
world  with  George,  and  see  all  its  wonders  ? " 

She  answered  not  a  word. 

"  Are  we  not  a  little  selfish  ?  It  is  a  bad  thing  to 
be  selfish,  child." 

Still  no  answer. 

"Think  of  all  the  benefit  to  George,"  pursued  the 
gentleman.  "  Think  of  all  you  might  see,  might  know, 
might  be  !  Why,  that  is  all  there  is  of  life,  Martha." 

"  It  is  not  all,"  answered  the  girl,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  It  is,  if  George  is  with  you.  —  Can  you  say  nothing 
for  yourself,  boy  ?  "  asked  the  gentleman,  sharply. 


230  MISERY  LANDING. 

For  answer  the  lad  threw  himself  on  his  knees  before 
her,  and  caught  her  hands  in  his  fevered  grasp,  while 
he  poured  out  a  flood  of  broken  entreaties.  The  gen 
tleman  listened,  meanwhile  carelessly  smoking  Sweet- 
Silence  and  patting  the  head  of  True-Heart  laid  wist 
fully  upon  his  knee.  (Why  should  the  dog  be  jealous  ? ) 

"  Do,  Marthy,  do  !  "  pleaded  the  boy ;  and  he  pressed 
her  hands  to  his  eager  lips.  The  gentleman  smiled. 

"  I  never,  never  will,"  said  the  girl,  looking,  not  at 
her  lover,  but  into  the  quiet,  smiling  face  across  the 
room.  Defiantly  she  spoke,  and  drew  herself  aloof 
from  the  boy  at  her  feet. 

"  "Well,  then,  Martha,  if  you  will  not  go  with  George, 
will  you  stay  here  with  him?"  said  the  gentleman. 
"  See,  I  will  give  you  this  house  and  everything  in  it. 
Will  it  do  to  commence  housekeeping  ? " 

The  boy  sprang  up  with  a  burst  of  joy.  "Will 
you,  governor  ?  Will  you  really  ?  Do  you  hear  that, 
Marthy  ?  You  did  n't  like  the  thought  of  travelling 
out  into  the  big  world,  dear;  and  no  wonder.  But  now 
you  can  stay  right  on  here  in  the  place  you  're  used 
to,  and  everything  so  comfortable.  Never  mind  about 
Egypt  and  the  palm-trees  and  things  ;  they  're  nothing 
.  alongside  of  you.  And  I  'd  take  such  care  of  you,  dear. 
You  would  n't  have  to  work  a  bit ;  I  'd  hunt  and  fish 
and  cook  too ;  I  'd  make  the  fires,  and  everything. 
All  I  want  is  just  to  see  you  sitting  by  the  chimbley 
when  I  come  home,  dear,  so  pretty  and  so  sweet.  0 


MISERY  LANDING.  231 

governor,  won't  we  have  fine  times  now,  we  three  to 
gether  ?  "  And,  school-boy  fashion,  George  gave  a  great 
bound  for  joy. 

A  rose  flush  had  risen  in  Martha's  cheek ;  her  eyes 
were  gentle  now.  "  /  will  keep  the  house,"  she  said 
softly,  as  if  to  herself,  and  smiled. 

"Yes,  you  shall,"  said  George;  "you  shall,  my 
pretty  one.  Hurrah  for  the  little  housekeeper  of 
Misery  Landing!  Won't  it  be  nice,  governor,  to 
find  her  here  when  we  come  in  from  hunting?" 

"Very  nice,  my  boy;  only  I  fear  I  cannot  enjoy 
the  sight  with  you.  But  that  need  make  no  differ 
ence." 

"  Well,  no,"  replied  George,  with  the  frank  ingrat 
itude  of  youth.  "  But  I  'm  sorry  on  your  own  ac 
count,  governor;  we'd  have  been  so  comfortable  all 
together.  Marthy  would  have  been  like  a  daughter 
to  you." 

"Thank  you,  George;  you  are  very  kind.  But  I 
must  go." 

"Soon,  governor?" 

"  I  '11  stay  to  see  you  married,  my  boy.  Suppose 
we  say  next  Tuesday  ?  I  will  give  a  ball,  and  in 
vite  all  the  village  to  do  you  honor." 

"  Next  Tuesday  !  0  my  ! "  ejaculated  George  in  the 
excess  of  -his  joy.  Words  failed  him,  but  he  caught 
his  love  in  his  arms.  That  at  least  needed  no  lan 
guage. 


232  MISERY  LANDING. 

The  girl  burst  from  his  embrace.  "What!"  she 
cried,  in  a  voice  strained  high  with  passion,  "I 
marry  you,  you  ungrateful  dog !  Never,  never,  here 
or  anywhere !  I  will  die  first ! "  The  door  closed 
after  her,  and  the  two  men  stood  gazing  at  vacancy. 

A  week  later  at  Misery  Landing  there  is  a  boy 
racked  with  fever;  a  man  nurses  him,  if  not  ten 
derly,  at  least  with  exactest  care. 

"She  will  not  see  me,  —  even  see  me!"  cries  the 
delirious  voice.  "  Marthy  !  my  little  Marthy  ! " 

The  days  pass ;  the  fever  lasts,  and  consumes  the 
small  store  of  strength ;  still,  night  and  day,  the 
voice  of  the  sick  boy  never  ceases  its  cry  for  her  he 
loves.  His  heart  exhausts  its  last  drops  in  calling 
her  name.  At  length  the  burning  tide  finds  nothing 
more  to  nourish  it,  and  departs,  leaving  death  to  fin 
ish  the  work.  The  boy  is  conscious  again,  but  wasted, 
pale,  and  pinched,  his  form  under  the  sheet  like  a 
skeleton,  his  voice  a  whisper,  his  hands  strangely 
white  and  weak.  He  lies  in  the  luxurious  hammock- 
bed,  but  notices  nothing;  his  large  eyes  are  closed, 
his  breath  labored.  The  man  who  watches  him  so 
closely  is  trying  every  human  device  to  raise  him  to 
life  again ;  for  three  days,  for  a  week,  night  and  day 
he  tends  him,  administering  hour  by  hour  drops  of 
delicate  cordial  and  the  small  nourishment  his  feeble 
frame  will  bear,  laying,  as  it  were,  the  very  atoms  in 
place  for  a  new  foundation.  But  he  gains  almost 


MISERY  LANDING.  233 

nothing,  since  the  hopeless  mind  he  cannot  reach, 
and  that  is  killing  the  body.  In  the  night  he  finds 
the  boy  weeping;  too  weak  to  sob  aloud,  the  great 
tears  on  his  pale  cheeks  bear  witness  to  his  despair. 
There  came  a  night  when,  rousing  suddenly  from  a 
sleep  which  had  overwhelmed  his  weary  eyes,  he 
thought  the  boy  was  dead,  so  rigid  and  so  motion 
less  seemed  the  still  form  under  the  sheet.  He 
shuddered.  Was  it  death?  "I  have  done  all  I 
could,"  he  said  to  himself,  hurriedly,  as  he  had  often 
said  it  before;  but  the  words  failed  this  time,  and 
he  stood  face  to  face  for  one  bare  moment  with  his 
inmost  self.  Then,  pale  as  the  face  before  him,  he 
approached  the  bed,  and  laid  his  trembling  hand 
upon  the  heart.  It  was  still  beating.  The  boy  slept. 

Calling  the  old  half-breed  to  keep  watch,  John  Jay 
rushed  out  into  the  night,  climbed  down  the  ladder, 
and  rowed  the  boat  swiftly  across  the  bay  toward 
the  village.  As  the  sun  rose  above  the  eastern  woods 
he  reached  the  beach  cottage,  and  found  the  girl  out 
side.  Without  a  word  he  took  her  hand  and  led  her 
to  the  boat.  She  followed  mutely,  and  in  silence 
they  took  the  journey  together,  nor  paused  until  they 
stood  in  the  presence  of  the  sleeping  boy.  Then  the 
man  spoke.  "He  will  die  unless  you  love  him, 
Martha." 

"  I  cannot,"  answered  the  girl,  bowing  her  face  upon 
her  hands. 


234  MISERY  LANDING. 

"Then,  at  least  let  him  love  you;  that  will  suffice 
him,  poor  fellow!" 

She  did  not  speak. 

"Martha,"  said  the  gentleman,  bending  over  her 
and  drawing  away  her  hands,  "what  I  tell  you  is 
absolutely  true.  I  have  done  my  best,  as  far  as  skill 
and  care  can  go ;  but  the  boy  —  no,  he  is  a  man 
now  —  cannot  live  without  you.  Look  at  him.  Will 
you  let  him  die  ? " 

He  drew  her  forward.  Hand  in  hand  they  stood 
together  and  gazed  upon  the  poor  pinched  face  before 
them ;  from  long  habit  a  tear  even  in  sleep  crept 
from  under  the  closed  lids. 

"We  cannot  do  this  thing,  Martha,"  said  the  man 
in  a  low  deep  voice.  He  turned  away  a  moment  and 
left  her  there  alone;  then  coming  back  to  the  bed 
side,  he  lifted  the-  sleeper,  laid  him  in  her  arms,  his 
head  resting  on  her  shoulder,  and  without  a  word 
went  away  into  the  wide  world  again,  leaving  Misery 
Landing  behind  him  forever. 

Two  weeks  later  he  presented  himself  at  the  door 
of  Francesca's  opera-box  in  the  Academy.  Francesca 
was  still  beautiful,  and  still  Francesca :  no  "  Madame  " 
graced  her  card. 

"  Good  evening,  Mr.  Jay,"  she  said,  smiling  the  same 
old  beautiful  smile.  "  You  have  been  away  just  a  year 
in  the  wilderness.  I  hope  you  have  enjoyed  yourself  ? " 

"  Immensely,"  answered  John. 


MISERY  LANDING.  235 

EPILOGUE. 

Place,  —  Fifth  Avenue  mansion.     Scene,  —  Dinner.     Time,  —  7  P.  M. 

MRS.  JAY.  "  By  the  way,  John,  you  have  never  told 
me  about  that  Lake  Superior  hermitage  of  yours, — 
Misery  Landing,  was  n't  it  ?  I  suppose  you  behaved 
very  badly  there." 

JOHN  JAY.  "  Of  course.  I  always  do,  you  know. 
Hand  .me. a  peach,  please.  That  claret-colored  velvet 
becomes  you  admirably,  Francesca." 

MRS.  JAY.  "  Do  you  think  so  ?  I  am  so  glad.  I 
made  a  real  study  of  this  trimming.  But  about  Misery 
Landing,  John ;  you  never  told  me  —  " 

JOHN  JAY.  "  And  never  shall,  madame." 


SOLOMON. 


MIDWAY  in  the  eastern  part  of  Ohio  lies  the 
coal  country;  round-topped  hills  there  begin 
to  show  themselves  in  the  level  plain,  trending  back 
from  Lake  Erie;  afterwards  rising  higher  and  higher, 
they  stretch  away  into  Pennsylvania  and  are  dignified 
by  the  name  of  Alleghany  Mountains.  But  no  names 
have  they  in  their  Ohio  birthplace,  and  little  do  the 
people  care  for  them,  save  as  storehouses  for  fuel.  The 
roads  lie  along  the  slow-moving  streams,  and  the  farm 
ers  ride  slowly  over  them  in  their  broad- wheeled  wag 
ons,  now  and  then  passing  dark  holes  in  the  bank  from 
whence  come  little  carts  into  the  sunshine,  and  men, 
like  silhouettes,  walking  behind  them,  with  glow-worm 
lamps  fastened  in  their  hat-bands.  Neither  farmers 
nor  miners  glance  up  towards  the  hilltops ;  no  doubt 
they  consider  them  useless  mounds,  and,  were  it  not 
for  the  coal,  they  would  envy  their  neighbors  of  the 
grain-country,  whose  broad,  level  fields  stretch  un 
broken  through  Central  Ohio ;  as,  however,  the  canal- 
boats  go  away  full,  and  long  lines  of  coal-cars  go  away 


SOLOMON.  237 

full,  and  every  man's  coal-shed  is  full,  and  money 
comes  back  from  the  great  iron-mills  of  Pittsburgh, 
Cincinnati,  and  Cleveland,  the  coal  country,  though 
unknown  in  a  picturesque  point  of  view,  continues  to 
grow  rich  and  prosperous. 

Yet  picturesque  it  is,  and  no  part  more  so  than  the 
valley  where  stands  the  village  of  the  quaint  German 
Community  on  the  banks  of  the  slow-moving  Tusca- 
rawas  Kiver.  One  October  day  we  left  the  lake  behind 
us  and  journeyed  inland,  following  the  water-courses 
and  looking  forward  for  the  first  glimpse  of  rising 
ground ;  blue  are  the  waters  of  Erie  on  a  summer  day, 
red  and  golden  are  its  autumn  sunsets,  but  so  level,  so 
deadly  level  are  its  shores  that,  at  times,  there  comes 
a  longing  for  the  sight  of  distant  hills.  Hence  our 
journey.  Night  found  us  still  in  the  "Western  Ee- 
serve."  Ohio  has  some  queer  names  of  her  own  for 
portions  of  her  territory,  the  "  Fire  Lands,"  the  "  Do 
nation  Grant,"  the  "Salt  Section,"  the  "Kefugee's 
Tract,"  and  the  "  Western  Eeserve "  are  names  well 
known,  although  not  found  on  the  maps.  Two  days 
more  and  we  came  into  the  coal  country ;  near  by  were 
the  "  Moravian  Lands,"  and  at  the  end  of  the  last  day's 
ride  we  crossed  a  yellow  bridge  over  a  stream  called 
the  "One-Leg  Creek." 

"  I  have  tried  in  vain  to  discover  the  origin  of  this 
name,"  I  said,  as  we  leaned  out  of  the  carriage  to  watch 
the  red  leaves  float  down  the  slow  tide. 


238  SOLOMON. 

"  Create  one,  then.  A  one-legged  soldier,  a  farmer's 
pretty  daughter,  an  elopement  in  a  flat-bottomed  boat, 
and  a  home  upon  this  stream  which  yields  its  stores  of 
catfish  for  their  support,"  suggested  Erminia. 

"  The  original  legend  would  be  better  than  that  if  we 
could  only  find  it,  for  real  life  is  always  better  than 
fiction,"  I  answered. 

"  In  real  life  we  are  all  masked ;  but  in  fiction  the 
author  shows  the  faces  as  they  are,  Dora." 

"  I  do  not  believe  we  are  all  masked,  Erminia.  I 
can  read  my  friends  like  a  printed  page." 

"  0,  the  wonderful  faith  of  youth ! "  said  Erminia, 
retiring  upon  her  seniority. 

Presently  the  little  church  on  the  hill  came  into 
view  through  a  vista  in  the  trees.  "We  passed  the  mill 
and  its  flowing  race,  the  blacksmith's  shop,  the  great 
grass  meadow,  and  drew  up  in  front  of  the  quaint  hotel 
where  the  trustees  allowed  the  world's  people,  if  unin- 
quisitive  and  decorous,  to  remain  in  the  Community 
for  short  periods  of  time,  on  the  payment  of  three  dol 
lars  per  week  for  each  person.  This  village  was  our 
favorite  retreat,  our  little  hiding-place  in  the  hill-coun 
try  ;  at  that  time  it  was  almost  as  isolated  as  a  solitary 
island,  for  the  Community  owned  thousands  of  outlying 
acres  and  held  no  intercourse  with  the  surrounding 
townships.  Content  with  their  own,  unmindful  of  the 
rest  of  the  world,  these  Germans  grew  steadily  richer 
and  richer,  solving  quietly  the  problem  of  co-operative 


SOLOMON.  239 

labor,  while  the  French  and  Americans  worked  at  it  in 
vain  with  newspapers,  orators,  and  even  cannon  to  aid 
them.  The  members  of  the  Community  were  no  as 
cetic  anchorites  ;  each  tiled  roof  covered  a  home  with  a 
thrifty  mother  and  train  of  grave  little  children,  the 
girls  in  short- waisted  gowns,  kerchiefs,  and  frilled  caps, 
and  the  boys  in  tailed  coats,  long-flapped  vests,  and 
trousers,  as  soon  as  they  were  able  to  toddle.  We 
liked  them  all,  we  liked  the  life ;  we  liked  the  moun 
tain-high  beds,  the  coarse  snowy  linen,  and  the  remark 
able  counterpanes  ;  we  liked  the  cream-stewed  chicken, 
the  Kase-lab,  and  fresh  butter,  but,  best  of  all,  the  hot 
bretzels  for  breakfast.  And  let  not  the  hasty  city  im 
agination  turn  to  the  hard,  salty,  sawdust  cake  in  the 
shape  of  a  broken-down  figure  eight  which  is  served 
with  lager-beer  in  saloons  and  gardens.  The  Com 
munity  bretzel  was  of  a  delicate  flaky  white  in  the 
inside,  shading  away  into  a  golden-brown  crust  of  crisp 
involutions,  light  as  a  feather,  and  flanked  by  little 
pats  of  fresh,  unsalted  butter,  and  a  deep-blue  cup 
wherein  the  coffee  was  hot,  the  cream  yellow,  and  the 
sugar  broken  lumps  from  the  old-fashioned  loaf,  now 
alas  !  obsolete. 

"We  stayed  among  the  simple  people  and  played  at 
shepherdesses  and  pastorellas;  we  adopted  the  hours 
of  the  birds,  we  went  to  church  on  Sunday  and  sang 
German  chorals  as  old  as  Luther.  We  even  played  at 
work  to  the  extent  of  helping  gather  apples,  eating  the 


240  SOLOMON. 

best,  and  riding  home  on  top  of  the  loaded  four-horse 
wains.  But  one  day  we  heard  of  a  new  diversion,  a 
sulphur-spring  over  the  hills  about  two  miles  from  the 
hotel  on  land  belonging  to  the  Community  ;  and,  obey 
ing  the  fascination  which  earth's  native  medicines  exer 
cise  over  all  earth's  children,  we  immediately  started  in 
search  of  the  nauseous  spring.  The  road  wound  over 
the  hill,  past  one  of  the  apple-orchards,  where  the  girls 
were  gathering  the  red  fruit,  and  then  down  a  little 
declivity  where  the  track  branched  off  to  the  Com 
munity  coal-mine ;  then  a  solitary  stretch  through  the 
thick  woods,  a  long  hill  with  a  curve,  and  at  the  foot  a 
little  dell  with  a  patch  of  meadow,  a  brook,  and  a  log- 
house  with  overhanging  roof,  a  forlorn  house  unpainted 
and  desolate.  There  was  not  even  the  blue  door  which 
enlivened  many  of  the  Community  dwellings.  "  This 
looks  like  the  huts  of  the  Black  Forest,"  said  Erminia. 
"  Who  would  have  supposed  that  we  should  find  such 
an  antique  in  Ohio  !  " 

"  I  am  confident  it  was  built  by  the  M.  B.'s,"  I  re 
plied.  "  They  tramped,  you  know,  extensively  through 
the  State,  burying  axes  and  leaving  every  now  and 
then  a  mastodon  behind  them." 

"Well,  if  the  Mound-Builders  selected  this  site 
they  showed  good  taste,"  said  Erminia,  refusing,  in  her 
afternoon  indolence,  the  argumentum  nonsensicum  with 
which  we  were  accustomed  to  enliven  our  conversation. 
It  was,  indeed,  a  lovely  spot,  —  the  little  meadow, 


SOLOMON.  241 

smooth  and  bright  as  green  velvet,  the  brook  chatter 
ing  over  the  pebbles,  and  the  hills,  gay  in  red  and 
yellow  foliage,  rising  abruptly  on  all  sides.  After  some 
labor  we  swung  open  the  great  gate  and  entered  the 
yard,  crossed  the  brook  on  a  mossy  plank,  and  followed 
the  path  through  the  grass  towards  the  lonely  house. 
An  old  shepherd-dog  lay  at  the  door  of  a  dilapidated 
shed,  like  a  block-house,  which  had  once  been  a  stable ; 
he  did  not  bark,  but,  rising  slowly,  came  along  beside 
us,  —  a  large,  gaunt  animal  that  looked  at  us  with  such 
melancholy  eyes  that  Erminia  stooped  to  pat  him. 
Ermine  had  a  weakness  for  dogs;  she  herself  owned 
a  wild  beast  of  the  dog  kind  that  went  by  the  name 
of  the  "  Emperor  Trajan "  ;  and,  accompanied  by  this 
dignitary,  she  was  accustomed  to  stroll  up  the  avenues 
of  C ,  lost  in  maiden  meditations. 

We  drew  near  the  house  and  stepped  up  on  the 
sunken  piazza,  but  no  signs  of  life  appeared.  The 
little  loophole  windows  were  pasted  over  with  paper, 
and  the  plank  door  had  no  latch  or  handle.  I  knocked, 
but  no  one  came.  "  Apparently  it  is  a  haunted  house, 
and  that  dog  is  the  spectre,"  I  said,  stepping  back. 

"  Knock  three  times,"  suggested  Ermine ;  "  that  is 
what  they  always  do  in  ghost-stories." 

"Try  it  yourself.  My  knuckles  are  not  cast- 
iron." 

Ermine  picked  up  a  stone  and  began  tapping  on  the 

door.     "  Open  sesame,"  she  said,  and  it  opened. 
16 


242  SOLOMON. 

Instantly  the  dog  slunk  away  to  his  block-house  and 
a  woman  confronted  us,  her  dull  face  lighting  up  as 
her  eyes  ran  rapidly  over  our  attire  from  head  to  foot. 
"  Is  there  a  sulphur-spring  here  ? "  I  asked.  "  We 
would  like  to  try  the  water." 

"  Yes,  it 's  here  fast  enough  in  the  back  hall.  Come 
in,  ladies ;  I  'm  right  proud  to  see  you.  From  the  city, 
I  suppose  ? " 

"  From  C ,"  I  answered ;  "  we  are  spending  a  few 

days  in  the  Community." 

Our  hostess  led  the  way  through  the  little  hall,  and 
throwing  open  a  back  door  pulled  up  a  trap  in  the 
floor,  and  there  we  saw  the  spring,  —  a  shallow  well 
set  in  stones,  with  a  jar  of  butter  cooling  in  its  white 
water.  She  brought  a  cup,  and  we  drank.  "Deli 
cious,"  said  Ermine.  "The  true,  spoiled-egg  flavor! 
Four  cups  is  the  minimum  allowance,  Dora." 

"  I  reckon  it 's  good  for  the  insides,"  said  the  woman, 
standing  with  arms  akimbo  and  staring  at  us.  She 
was  a  singular  creature,  with  large  black  eyes,  Eoman 
nose,  and  a  mass  of  black  hair  tightly  knotted  on  the 
top  of  her  head,  but  pinched  and  gaunt;  her  yellow 
forehead  was  wrinkled  with  a  fixed  frown,  and  her  thin 
lips  drawn  down  in  permanent  discontent.  Her  dress 
was  a  shapeless  linsey-woolsey  gown,  and  home-made 
list  slippers  covered  her  long,  lank  feet.  "  Be  that  the 
fashion  ? "  she  asked,  pointing  to  my  short,  closely 
fitting  walking-dress. 


SOLOMON.  243 

"  Yes,"  I  answered ;  "  do  you  like  it  ? " 

"  Well,  it  does  for  you,  sis,  because  you  're  so  little 
and  peaked-like,  but  it  would  n't  do  for  me.  The  other 
lady,  now,  don't  wear  nothing  like  that;  is  she  even 
with  the  style,  too  ? " 

"There  is  such  a  thing  as  being  above  the  style, 

madam,"  replied  Ermine,  bending  to  dip  up  glass  num- 

• 
ber  two. 

"  Our  figgers  is  a  good  deal  alike,"  pursued  the  wo 
man  ;  "  I  reckon  that  fashion  ud  suit  me  best." 

Willowy  Erminia  glanced  at  the  stick-like  hostess. 
"  You  do  me  honor,"  she  said,  suavely.  "  I  shall  con 
sider  myself  fortunate,  madam,  if  you  will  allow  me  to 

send  you  patterns  from  C .  What  are  we  if  not 

well  dressed  ? " 

"  You  have  a  fine  dog,"  I  began  hastily,  fearing  lest 
the  great,  black  eyes  should  penetrate  the  sarcasm; 
"  what  is  his  name  ? " 

"A  stupid  beast!  He's  none  of  mine;  belongs  to 
my  man." 

"Your  husband?" 

"Yes,  my  man.  He  works  in  the  coal-mine  over 
the  hill." 

"  You  have  no  children  ? " 

"  JSTot  a  brat.     Glad  of  it,  too." 

"You  must  be  lonely,"  I  said,  glancing  around  the 
desolate  house.  To  my  surprise,  suddenly  the  woman 
burst  into  a  flood  of  tears,  and  sinking  down  on  the 


244  SOLOMON. 

floor  she  rocked  from  side  to  side,  sobbing,  and  cover 
ing  her  face  with  her  bony  hands. 

"What  can  be  the  matter  with  her?"  I  said  in 
alarm;  and,  in  my  agitation,  I  dipped  up  some  sul 
phur-water  and  held  it  to  her  lips. 

"Take  away  the  smelling  stuff,  —  I  hate  it!"  she 
cried,  pushing  the  cap  angrily  from  her. 

Ermine  looked  on  in  silence  for  a  moment  or  two, 
then  she  took  off  her  neck-tie,  a  bright-colored  Eoman 
scarf,  and  threw  it  across  the  trap  into  the  woman's 
lap.  "  Do  me  the  favor  to  accept  that  trifle,  madam," 
she  said,  in  her  soft  voice. 

The  woman's  sobs  ceased  as  she  saw  the  ribbon ;  she 
fingered  it  with  one  hand  in  silent  admiration,  wiped 
her  wet  face  with  the  skirt  of  her  gown,  and  then  sud 
denly  disappeared  into  an  adjoining  room,  closing  the 
door  behind  her. 

"  Do  you  think  she  is  crazy  ? "  I  whispered. 

"  0  no ;  merely  pensive." 

"Nonsense,  Ermine!  But  why  did  you  give  her 
that  ribbon?" 

"  To  develop  her  aesthetic  taste,"  replied  my  cousin, 
finishing  her  last  glass,  and  beginning  to  draw  on  her 
delicate  gloves. 

Immediately  I  began  gulping  down  my  neglected 
dose ;  but  so  vile  was  the  odor  that  some  time  was 
required  for  the  operation,  and  in  the  midst  of  my 
struggles  our  hostess  reappeared.  She  had  thrown  on 


SOLOMON.  245 

ail  old  dress  of  plaid  delaine,  a  faded  red  ribbon  was 
tied  over  her  head,  and  around  her  sinewed  throat  re 
posed  the  Eoman  scarf  pinned  with  a  glass  brooch. 

"  Keally,  madam,  you  honor  us,"  said  Ermine,  gravely. 

"  Thankee,  marm.  It 's  so  long  since  I  Ve  had  on 
anything  but  that  old  bag,  and  so  long  since  I  've  seen 
anything  but  them  Dutch  girls  over  to  the  Community, 
with  their  wooden  shapes  and  wooden  shoes,  that  it 
sorter  come  over  me  all  't  onct  what  a  miserable  life 
I  've  had.  You  see,  I  ain't  what  I  looked  like ;  now 
I  Ve  dressed  up  a  bit  I  feel  more  like  telling  you  that 
I  come  of  good  Ohio  stock,  without  a  drop  of  Dutch 
blood.  My  father,  he  kep'  a  store  in  Sandy,  and  I  had 
everything  I  wanted  until  I  must  needs  get  crazy  over 
Painting  Sol  at  the  Community.  Father,  he  would  n't 
hear  to  it,  and  so  I  ran  away ;  Sol,  he  turned  out  good 
for  nothing  to  work,  and  so  here  I  am,  yer  see,  in 
spite  of  all  his  pictures  making  me  out  the  Queen 
of  Sheby." 

"  Is  your  husband  an  artist  ? "  I  asked. 

"  No,  miss.  He  's  a  coal-miner,  he  is.  But  he  used 
to  like  to  paint  me  all  sorts  of  ways.  Wait,  I  '11  show 
yer."  Going  up  the  rough  stairs  that  led  into  the 
attic,  the  woman  came  back  after  a  moment  with  a 
number  of  sheets  of  drawing-paper  which  she  hung  up 
along  the  walls  with  pins  for  our  inspection.  They 
were  all  portraits  of  the  same  face,  with  brick-red 
cheeks,  enormous  black  eyes,  and  a  profusion  of  shin- 


246  SOLOMON. 

ing  black  hair  hanging  down  over  plump  white  shoul 
ders  ;  the  costumes  were  various,  but  the  faces  were 
the  same.  I  gazed  in  silence,  seeing  no  likeness  to 
anything  earthly.  Erminia  took  out  her  glasses  and 
scanned  the  pictures  slowly. 

"  Yourself,  madam,  I  perceive,"  she  said,  much  to  my 
surprise. 

"Yes,  'm,  that  's  me,"  replied  our  hostess,  compla 
cently.  "  I  never  was  like  those  yellow-haired  girls 
over  to  the  Community.  Sol  allers  said  my  face  was 
real  rental." 

"  Eental  ? "  I  repeated,  inquiringly. 

"Oriental,  of  course,"  said  Ermine.  "Mr.  —  Mr. 
Solomon  is  quite  right.  May  I  ask  the  names  of  these 
characters,  madam  ? " 

"  Queen  of  Sheby,  Judy,  Euth,  Esthy,  Po-co-hon-tus, 
Goddessaliberty,  Sunset,  and  eight  Octobers,  them  with 
the  grapes.  Sunset 's  the  one  with  the  red  paint  be 
hind  it  like  clouds." 

"Truly  a  remarkable  collection/'  said  Ermine. 
"  Does  Mr.  Solomon  devote  much  time  to  his  art  ? " 

"  No,  not  now.  He  could  n't  make  a  cent  out  of 
it,  so  he  's  took  to  digging  coal.  He  painted  all  them 
when  we  was  first  married,  and  he  went  a  journey  all 
the  way  to  Cincinnati  to  sell  'em.  First  he  was  going 
to  buy  me  a  silk  dress  and  some  ear-rings,  and,  after 
that,  a  farm.  But  pretty  soon  home  he  come  on  a 
canal-boat,  without  a  shilling,  and  a  bringing  all  the 


SOLOMON.  247 

pictures  back  with  him !  Well,  then  he  tried  most 
everything,  but  he  never  could  keep  to  any  one  trade, 
for  he  'd  just  as  lief  quit  work  in  the  middle  of  the 
forenoon  and  go  to  painting;  no  boss  '11  stand  that, 
you  know.  We  kep'  a  going  down,  and  I  had  to  sell 
the  few  things  my  father  give  me  when  he  found  I  was 
married  whether  or  no,  —  my  chany,  my  feather-beds, 
and  my  nice  clothes,  piece  by  piece.  I  held  on  to  the 
big  looking-glass  for  four  years,  but  at  last  it  had  to  go, 
and  then  I  just  gave  up  and  put  on  a  linsey-woolsey 
gown.  When  a  girl's  spirit  's  once  broke,  she  don't 
care  for  nothing,  you  know ;  so,  when  the  Com 
munity  offered  to  take  Sol  back  as  coal-digger,  I  just 
said,  'Go,'  and  we  come."  Here  she  tried  to  smear 
the  tears  away  with  her  bony  hands,  and  gave  a  low 
groan. 

"  Groaning  probably  relieves  you,"  observed  Ermine. 

"  Yes,  'm.  It 's  kinder  company  like,  when  I  'm 
all  alone.  But  you  see  it 's  hard  on  the  prettiest 
girl  in  Sandy  to  have  to  live  in  this  lone  lorn  place. 
Why,  ladies,  you  might  n't  believe  it,  but  I  had 
open-work  stockings,  and  feathers  in  my  winter  bun- 
nets  before  I  was  married ! "  And  the  tears  broke 
forth  afresh. 

"  Accept  my  handkerchief,"  said  Ermine ;  "  it  will 
serve  your  purpose  better  than  fingers." 

The  woman  took  the  dainty  cambric  and  surveyed 
it  curiously,  held  at  arm's  length.  '"  Keglar  thistle- 


248  SOLOMON. 

down,  now,  ain't  it  ? "  she  said ;  "  and  smells  like  a 
locust-tree  blossom." 

"  Mr.  Solomon,  then,  belonged  to  the  Community  ? " 
I  asked,  trying  to  gather  up  the  threads  of  the  story. 

"  No,  he  did  n't  either ;  he 's  no  Dutchman,  I  reckon, 
he 's  a  Lake  County  man,  born  near  Painesville,  he  is." 

"  I  thought  you  spoke  as  though  he  had  been  in 
the  Community." 

"  So  he  had ;  he  did  n't  belong,  but  he  worked  for 
'em  since  he  was  a  boy,  did  middling  well,  in  spite 
of  the  painting,  until  one  day,  when  he  come  over 
to  Sandy  on  a  load  of  wood  and  seen  me  standing 
at  the  door.  That  was  the  end  of  him,"  continued 
the  woman,  with  an  air  of  girlish  pride;  "he  could 
n't  work  no  more  for  thinking  of  me." 

"  Ou  la  vanit^  va-t-clle  se  nicher  ? "  murmured  Er 
mine,  rising.  "  Come,  Dora ;  it  is  time  to  return." 

As  I  hastily  finished  my  last  cup  of  sulphur- water, 
our  hostess  followed  Ermine  towards  the  door.  "  Will 
you  have  your  handkercher  back,  marm?"  she  said, 
holding  it  out  reluctantly. 

"  It  was  a  free  gift,  madam,"  replied  my  cousin ;  "  I 
wish  you  a  good  afternoon." 

"  Say,  will  yer  be  coming  again  to-morrow  ? "  asked 
the  woman  as  I  took  my  departure. 

"  Very  likely  ;  good  by." 

The  door  closed,  and  then,  but  not  till  then,  the 
melancholy 'dog  joined  us  and  stalked  behind  until  we 


SOLOMON.  249 

had  crossed  the  meadow  and  reached  the  gate.  We 
passed  out  and  turned  up  the  hill;  but  looking  back 
we  saw  the  outline  of  the  woman's  head  at  the  upper 
window,  and  the  dog's  head  at  the  bars,  both  watch 
ing  us  out  of  sight. 

In  the  evening  there  came  a  cold  wind  down  from 
the  north,  and  the  parlor,  with  its  primitive  ventilators, 
square  openings  in  the  side  of  the  house,  grew  chilly. 
So  a  great  fire  of  soft  coal  was  built  in  the  broad 
Franklin  stove,  and  before  its  blaze  we  made  good 
cheer,  nor  needed  the  one  candle  which  nickered  on 
the  table  behind  us.  Cider  fresh  from  the  mill,  carded 
gingerbread,  and  new  cheese  crowned  the  scene,  and 
during  the  evening  came  a  band  of  singers,  the  young 
people  of  the  Community,  and  sang  for  us  the  song 
of  the  Lorelei,  accompanied  by  home-made  violins 
and  flageolets.  At  length  we  were  left  alone,  the 
candle  had  burned  out,  the  house  door  was  barred, 
and  the  peaceful  Community  was  asleep ;  still  we 
two  sat  together  with  our  feet  upon  the  hearth,  look 
ing  down  into  the  glowing  coals. 

"  Ich  weisz  nicht  was  soil  es  "bedeuten 
Dasz  ich  so  traurig  bin," 

I  said,  repeating  the  opening  lines  of  the  Lorelei; 
"I  feel  absolutely  blue  to-night." 

"The  memory  of  the  sulphur-woman,"  suggested 
Ermine. 


250  SOLOMON. 

"  Sulphur- woman  !    What  a  name ! " 

"Entirely  appropriate,  in  my  opinion." 

"  Poor  thing !  How  she  longed  with  a  great  long 
ing  for  the  finery  of  her  youth  in  Sandy." 

"I  suppose  from  those  barbarous  pictures  that  she 
was  originally  in  the  flesh,"  mused  Ermine ;  "  at 
present  she  is  but  a  bony  outline." 

"  Such  as  she  is,  however,  she  has  had  her  romance," 
I  answered.  "  She  is  quite  sure  that  there  was  one 
to  love  her;  then  let  come  what  may,  she  has  had 
her  day." 

"Misquoting  Tennyson  on  such  a  subject!"  said 
Ermine,  with  disdain. 

"  A  man  's  a  man  for  all  that  and  a  woman  's  a 
woman  too,"  I  retorted.  "You  are  blind,  cousin, 
blinded  with  pride.  That  woman  has  had  her  trage 
dy,  as  real  and  bitter  as  any  that  can  come  to  us." 

"  What  have  you  to  say  for  the  poor  man,  then  ? " 
exclaimed  Ermine,  rousing  to  the  contest.  "If  there 
is  a  tragedy  at  the  sulphur-house,  it  belongs  to  the 
sulphur-man,  not  to  the  sulphur-woman." 

"He  is  not  a  sulphur-man,  he  is  a  coal-man;  keep 
to  your  bearings,  Ermine." 

"I  tell  you,"  pursued  my  cousin,  earnestly,  "that 
I  pitied  that  unknown  man  with  inward  tears  all 
the  while  I  sat  by  that  trap-door.  Depend  upon  it, 
he  had  his  dream,  his  ideal;  and  this  country  girl 
with  her  great  eyes  and  wealth  of  hair  represented 


SOLOMON.  251 

the  beautiful  to  his  hungry  soul.  He  gave  his  whole 
life  and  hope  into  her  hands,  and  woke  to  find  his 
goddess  a  common  wooden  image." 

"  Waste  sympathy  upon  a  coal-miner  ! "  I  said,  imi 
tating  my  cousin's  former  tone. 

"If  any  one  is  blind,  it  is  you,"  she  answered, 
with  gleaming  eyes.  "  That  man's  whole  history  stood 
revealed  in  the  selfish  complainings  of  that  creature. 
He  had  been  in  the  Community  from  boyhood,  there 
fore  of  course  he  had  no  chance  to  learn  life,  to  see 
its  art-treasures.  He  has  been  shipwrecked,  poor  soul, 
hopelessly  shipwrecked." 

"  She  too,  Ermine." 

"She!" 

"Yes.  If  he  loved  pictures,  she  loved  her  chany 
and  her  feather-beds,  not  to  speak  of  the  big  looking- 
glass.  No  doubt  she  had  other  lovers,  and  might 
have  lived  in  a  red  brick  farmhouse  with  ten  un 
opened  front  windows  and  a  blistered  front  door. 
The  wives  of  men  of  genius  are  always  to  be  pitied ; 
they  do  not  soar  into  the  crowd  of  feminine  admirers 
who  circle  round  the  husband,  and  they  are  therefore 
called  '  grubs,'  '  worms  of  the  earth,'  '  drudges,'  and 
other  sweet  titles." 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Ermine,  tumbling  the  arched  coals 
into  chaos  with  the  poker ;  "  it 's  after  midnight,  let 
us  go  up  stairs."  I  knew  very  well  that  my  beau 
tiful  cousin  enjoyed  the  society  of  several  poets, 


252  SOLOMON. 

painters,  musicians,  and  others  of  that  ilk,  without 
concerning  herself  about  their  stay-at-home  wives. 

The  next  day  the  winds  were  out  in  battle  array, 
howling  over  the  Strasburg  halls,  raging  up  and  down 
the  river,  and  whirling  the  colored  leaves  wildly 
along  the  lovely  road  to  the  One-Leg  Creek.  Evidently 
there  could  be  no  rambling  in  the  painted  woods 
that  day,  so  we  went  over  to  old  Fritz's  shop,  played 
on  his  home-made  piano,  inspected  the  woolly  horse 
who  turned  his  crank  patiently  in  an  underground 
den,  and  set  in  motion  all  the  curious  little  images 
which  the  carpenter's  deft  fingers  had  wrought. 
Fritz  belonged  to  the  Community,  and  knew  nothing 
of  the  outside  world;  he  had  a  taste  for  mechanism, 
which  showed  itself  in  many  labor-saving  devices, 
and  with  it  all  he  was  the  roundest,  kindest  little 
man,  with  bright  eyes  like  a  canary-bird. 

"Do  you  know  Solomon  the  coal-miner?"  asked 
Ermine,  in  her  correct,  well-learned  German. 

"  Sol  Bangs  ?  Yes,  I  know  him,"  replied  Fritz,  in 
his  Wlirtemberg  dialect. 

"  What  kind  of  a  man  is  he  ? " 

"  Good  for  nothing,"  replied  Fritz,  placidly. 

"Why?" 

"  Wrong  here  "  ;  tapping  his  forehead. 

"  Do  you  know  his  wife  ?  "  I  asked. 

"Yes." 

"  What  kind  of  a  woman  is  she  ? " 


SOLOMON.  253 

"  Too  much  tongue.    "Women  must  not  talk  much." 

"  Old  Fritz  touched  us  both  there/'  I  said,  as  we 
ran  back  laughing  to  the  hotel  through  the  blustering 
wind.  "  In  his  opinion,  I  suppose,  we  have  the  pop 
ular  verdict  of  the  township  upon  our  two  proteges, 
the  sulphur-woman  and  her  husband." 

The  next  day  opened  calm,  hazy,  and  warm,  the 
perfection  of  Indian  summer ;  the  breezy  hill  was  out 
lined  in  purple,  and  the  trees  glowed  in  rich  colors. 
In  the  afternoon  we  started  for  the  sulphur-spring 
without  shawls  or  wraps,  for  the  heat  was  almost 
oppressive;  we  loitered  on  the  way  through  the  still 
woods,  gathering  the  tinted  leaves,  and  wondering  why 
no  poet  has  yet  arisen  to  celebrate  in  fit  words  the 
glories  of  the  American  autumn.  At  last  we  reached 
the  turn  whence  the  lonely  house  came  into  view,  and 
at  the  bars  we  saw  the  dog  awaiting  us. 

"Evidently  the  sulphur-woman  does  not  like  that 
melancholy  animal,"  I  said,  as  we  applied  our  united 
strength  to  the  gate. 

"Did  you  ever  know  a  woman  of  limited  mind 
who  liked  a  large  dog  ? "  replied  Ermine.  "  Occasion 
ally  such  a  woman  will  fancy  a  small  cur;  but  to 
appreciate  a  large,  noble  dog  requires  a  large,  noble 
mind." 

"Nonsense  with  your  dogs  and  minds,"  I  said, 
laughing.  "Wonderful!  There  is  a  curtain." 

It  was  true.     The   paper  had  been  removed  from 


254  SOLOMON. 

one  of  the  windows,  and  in  its  place  hung  some 
white  drapery,  probably  part  of  a  sheet  rigged  as  a 
curtain. 

Before  we  reached  the  piazza  the  door  opened,  and 
our  hostess  appeared.  "Glad  to  see  yer,  ladies,"  she 
said.  "  Walk  right  in  this  way  to  the  keeping-room." 

The  dog  went  away  to  his  block-house,  and  we 
followed  the  woman  into  a  room  on  the  right  of  the 
hall;  there  were  three  rooms,  beside  the  attic  above. 
An  Old- World  German  stove  of  brick-work  occupied 
a  large  portion  of  the  space,  and  over  it  hung  a  few 
tins,  and  a  clock  whose  pendulum  swung  outside;  a 
table,  a  settle,  and  some  stools  completed  the  furni 
ture  ;  but  on  the  plastered  walls  were  two  rude 
brackets,  one  holding  a  cup  and  saucer  of  figured 
china,  and  the  other  surmounted  by  a  large  bunch 
of  autumn  leaves,  so  beautiful  in  themselves  and  so 
exquisitely  arranged  that  we  crossed  the  room  to 
admire  them. 

"  Sol  fixed  'em,  he  did,"  said  the  sulphur-woman ; 
"he  seen  me  setting  things  to  rights,  and  he  would 
do  it.  I  told  him  they  was  trash,  but  he  made  me 
promise  to  leave  'em  alone  in  case  you  should  call 
again." 

"Madam  Bangs,  they  would  adorn  a  palace,"  said 
Ermine,  severely. 

"  The  cup  is  pretty  too,"  I  observed,  seeing  the 
woman's  eyes  turn  that  way. 


SOLOMON.  255 

"It  's  the  last  of  my  chany,"  she  answered,  with 
pathos  in  her  voice,  —  "the  very  last  piece." 

As  we  took  our  places  on  the  settle  we  noticed 
the  brave  attire  of  our  hostess.  The  delaine  was 
there ;  but  how  altered  !  Flounces  it  had,  skimped, 
but  still  flounces,  and  at  the  top  was  a  collar  of 
crochet  cotton  reaching  nearly  to  the  shoulders  ;  the 
hair,  too,  was  braided  in  imitation  of  Ermine's  sunny 
coronet,  and  the  Eoman  scarf  did  duty  as  a  belt 
around  the  large  flat  waist. 

"You  see  she  tries  to  improve,"  I  whispered,  as 
Mrs.  Bangs  went  into  the  hall  to  get  some  sulphur- 
water  for  us. 

"Vanity,"  answered  Ermine. 

We  drank  our  dose  slowly,  and  our  hostess  talked 
on  and  on.  Even  I,  her  champion,  began  to  weary 
of  her  complainings.  "  How  dark  it  is  ! "  said  Ermine 
at  last,  rising  and  drawing  aside  the  curtain.  "  See, 
Dora,  a  storm  is  close  upon  us." 

We  hurried  to  the  door,  but  one  look  at  the  black 
cloud  was  enough  to  convince  us  that  we  could  not 
reach  the  Community  hotel  before  it  would  break, 
and  somewhat  drearily  we  returned  to  the  keeping- 
room,  which  grew  darker  and  darker,  until  our  host 
ess  was  obliged  to  light  a  candle.  "  Eeckon  you  '11 
have  to  stay  all  night ;  I  'd  like  to  have  you,  ladies," 
she  said.  "  The  Community  ain't  got  nothing  cov 
ered  to  send  after  you,  except  the  old  king's  coach, 


256  SOLOMON. 

and  I  misdoubt  they  won't  let  that  out  in  such  a 
storm,  steps  and  all.  When  it  begins  to  rain  in  this 
valley,  it  do  rain,  I  can  tell  you ;  and  from  the  way 
it 's  begun,  't  won't  stop  'fore  morning.  You  just  let 
me  send  the  Roarer  over  to  the  mine,  he  '11  tell  Sol ; 
Sol  can  tell  the  Community  folks,  so  they  '11  know 
where  you  be." 

I  looked  somewhat  aghast  at  this  proposal,  but 
Ermine  listened  to  the  rain  upon  the  roof  a  moment, 
and  then  quietly  accepted;  she  remembered  the  long 
hills  of  tenacious  red  clay,  and  her  kid  boots  were 
dear  to  her. 

"The  Eoarer,  I  presume,  is  some  faithful  kobold 
who  bears  your  message  to  and  from  the  mine,"  she 
said,  making  herself  as  comfortable  as  the  wooden 
settle  would  allow. 

The  sulphur-woman  stared.  "  Eoarer 's  Sol's  old 
dog,"  she  answered,  opening  the  door ;  "  perhaps  one 
of  you  will  write  a  bit  of  a  note  for  him  to  carry 
in  his  basket.  —  Eoarer,  Eoarer  ! " 

The  melancholy  dog  came  slowly  in,  and  stood  still 
while  she  tied  a  small  covered  basket  around  his  neck. 

Ermine  took  a  leaf  from  her  tablets  and  wrote  a 
line  or  two  with  the  gold  pencil  attached  to  her 
watch-chain. 

"Well  now,  you  do  have  everything  handy,  I  do 
declare,"  said  the  woman,  admiringly. 

I  glanced  at  the  paper. 


SOLOMON.  257 

"  MR.  SOLOMON  BANGS  :  My  cousin  Theodora  Went- 
worth  and  myself  have  accepted  the  hospitality  of 
your  house  for  the  night.  Will  you  be  so  good  as 
to  send  tidings  of  our  safety  to  the  Community,  and 

oblige, 

"ERMINIA  STUART." 

The  Eoarer  started  obediently  out  into  the  rain-storm 
with  his  little  basket;  he  did  not  run,  but  walked 
slowly,  as  if  the  storm  was  nothing  compared  to  his 
settled  melancholy. 

"What  a  note  to  send  to  a  coal-miner!"  I  said, 
during  a  momentary  absence  of  our  hostess. 

"Never  fear;  it  will  be  appreciated,"  replied 
Ermine. 

"  What  is  this  king's  carriage  of  which  you  spoke  ? " 
I  asked,  during  the  next  hour's  conversation. 

"  0,  when  they  first  come  over  from  Germany,  they 
had  a  sort  of  a  king ;  he  knew  more  than  the  rest,  and 
he  lived  in  that  big  brick  house  with  dormel- winders 
and  a  cuperler,  that  stands  next  the  garden.  The 
carriage  was  hisn,  and  it  had  steps  to  let  down,  and 
curtains  and  all ;  they  don't  use  it  much  now  he  's 
dead.  They  're  a  queer  set  anyhow !  The  women 
look  like  meal-sacks.  After  Sol  seen  me,  he  could  n't 
abide  to  look  at  'em." 

Soon  after  six  we  heard  the  great  gate  creak. 

"  That 's  Sol,"  said  the  woman,  "  and  now  of  course 

Roarer  '11  come  in  and  track  all  over  my  floor."     The 
17 


258  SOLOMON. 

hall  door  opened  and  a  shadow  passed  into  the  oppo 
site  room,  two  shadows,  —  a  man  and  a  dog. 

"  He  's  going  to  wash  himself  now/'  continued  the 
wife ;  "  he  's  always  washing  himself,  just  like  a 
horse." 

"  New  fact  in  natural  history,  Dora  love,"  observed 
Ermine. 

After  some  moments  the  miner  appeared,  —  a  tall, 
stooping  figure  with  high  forehead,  large  blue  eyes, 
and  long  thin  yellow  hair;  there  was  a  singularly 
lifeless  expression  in  his  face,  and  a  far-off  look  in 
his  eyes.  He  gazed  about  the  room  in  an  absent 
way,  as  though  he  scarcely  saw  us.  Behind  him 
stalked  the  Eoarer,  wagging  his  tail  slowly  from  side 
to  side. 

"  Now,  then,  don't  yer  see  the  ladies,  Sol  ?  Where 's 
yer  manners  ? "  said  his  wife,  sharply. 

"  Ah,  —  yes,  —  good  evening,"  he  said,  vaguely. 
Then  his  wandering  eyes  fell  upon  Ermine's  beautiful 
face,  and  fixed  themselves  there  with  strange  intent- 
ness. 

"  You  received  my  note,  Mr.  Bangs  ? "  said  my  cousin 
in  her  soft  voice. 

"Yes,  surely.  You  are  Erminia,"  replied  the  man, 
still  standing  in  the  centre  of  the  room  with  fixed  eyes. 
The  Eoarer  laid  himself  down  behind  his  master,  and 
his  tail,  still  wagging,  sounded  upon  the  floor  with  a 
regular  tap. 


SOLOMON.  259 

"  Now  then,  Sol,  since  you  Ve  come  home,  perhaps 
you'll  entertain  the  ladies  while  I  get  supper/'  quoth 
Mrs.  Bangs ;  and  forthwith  began  a  clatter  of  pans. 

The  man  passed  his  long  hand  abstractedly  over  his 
forehead.  "  Eh,"  he  said  with  long-drawn  utterance,  — 
"  eh-h  ?  Yes,  my  rose  of  Sharon,  certainly,  certainly." 

"Then  why  don't  you  do  it?"  said  the  woman, 
lighting  the  fire  in  the  brick  stove. 

"  And  what  will  the  ladies  please  to  do  ? "  he  an 
swered,  his  eyes  going  back  to  Ermine. 

"We  will  look  over  your  pictures,  sir,"  said  my 
cousin,  rising;  "they  are  in  the  upper  room,  I  be 
lieve." 

A  great  flush  rose  in  the  painter's  thin  cheeks. 
"  Will  you,"  he  said  eagerly,  —  "  will  you  ?  Come  !  " 

"  It 's  a  broken-down  old  hole,  ladies ;  Sol  will  never 
let  me  sweep  it  out.  Reckon  you'll  be  more  com 
fortable  here,"  said  Mrs.  Bangs,  with  her  arms  in  the 
flour. 

"No,  no,  my  lily  of  the  valley.  The  ladies  will 
come  with  me;  they  will  not  scorn  the  poor  room." 

"A  studio  is  always  interesting,"  said  Ermine, 
sweeping  up  the  rough  stairs  behind  Solomon's  candle. 
The  dog  followed  us,  and  laid  himself  down  on  an  old 
mat,  as  though  well  accustomed  to  the  place.  "  Eh-h, 
hoy,  you  came  bravely  through  the  storm  with  the 
lady's  note,"  said  his  master,  beginning  to  light  candle 
after  candle.  "  See  him  laugh  ! " 


260  SOLOMON. 

"  Can  a  dog  laugh  ? "  I  asked. 

"  Certainly ;  look  at  him  now.  What  is  that  but  a 
grin  of  happy  contentment  ?  Don't  the  Bible  say, 
'grin  like  a  dog'?" 

"You  seem  much  attached  to  the  Roarer." 

"  Tuscarora,  lady,  Tuscarora.  Yes,  I  love  him  well 
He  has  been  with  me  through  all,  and  he  has  watched 
the  making  of  all  my  pictures;  he  always  lies  there 
when  I  paint." 

By  this  time  a  dozen  candles  were  burning  on 
shelves  and  brackets,  and  we  could  see  all  parts  of 
the  attic  studio.  It  was  but  a  poor  place,  unfloored 
in  the  corners  where  the  roof  slanted  down,  and  hav 
ing  no  ceiling  but  the  dark  beams  and  thatch ;  hung 
upon  the  walls  were  the  pictures  we  had  seen,  and 
many  others,  all  crude  and  highly  colored,  and  all 
representing  the  same  face,  —  the  sulphur- woman  in 
her  youth,  the  poor  artist's  only  ideal.  He  showed 
us  these  one  by  one,  handling  them  tenderly,  and  tell 
ing  us,  in  his  quaint  language,  all  they  symbolized. 
"  This  is  Ruth,  and  denoteth  the  power  of  hope,"  he 
said.  "Behold  Judith,  the  queen  of  revenge.  And 
this  dear  one  is  Rachel,  for  whom  Jacob  served  seven 
years,  and  they  seemed  unto  him  but  a  day,  so  well 
he  loved  her."  The  light  shone  on  his  pale  face, 
and  we  noticed  the  far-off  look  in  his  eyes,  and 
the  long,  tapering  fingers  coming  out  from  the  hard- 
worked,  broad  palm.  To  me  it  was  a  melancholy 


SOLOMON.  261 

scene,  the  poor  artist  with  his  daubs  and  the  dreary 
attic. 

But  Ermine  seemed  eagerly  interested;  she  looked 
at  the  staring  pictures,  listened  to  the  explanations, 
and  at  last  she  said  gently,  "  Let  me  show  you  some 
thing  of  perspective,  and  the  part  that  shadows  play 
in  a  pictured  face.  Have  you  any  crayons  ? " 

No ;  the  man  had  only  his  coarse  paints  and  lumps  of 
charcoal ;  taking  a  piece  of  the  coal  in  her  delicate  hand, 
my  cousin  began  to  work  upon  a  sheet  of  drawing- 
paper  attached  to  the  rough  easel.  Solomon  watched 
her  intently,  as  she  explained  and  demonstrated  some 
of  the  rules  of  drawing,  the  lights  and  shades,  and 
the  manner  of  representing  the  different  features  and 
curves.  All  his  pictures  were  full  faces,  flat  and  un 
shaded  ;  Ermine  showed  him  the  power  of  the  profile 
and  the  three-quarter  view.  I  grew  weary  of  watching 
them,  and  pressing  my  face  against  the  little  window 
gazed  out  into  the  night ;  steadily  the  rain  came  down 
and  the  hills  shut  us  in  like  a  well.  I  thought  of  our 
home  in  C ,  and  its  bright  lights,  warmth,  com 
pany,  and  life.  Why  should  we  come  masquerading 
out  among  the  Ohio  hills  at  this  late  season?  And 
then  I  remembered  that  it  was  because  Ermine  would 
come ;  she  liked  such  expeditions,  and  from  childhood 
I  had  always  followed  her  lead.  "  Dux  nascitur,  etc., 
etc."  Turning  away  from  the  gloomy  night,  I  looked 
towards  the  easel  again ;  Solomon's  cheeks  were  deeply 


262  SOLOMON. 

flushed,  and  his  eyes  shone  like  stars.  The  lesson 
went  on,  the  merely  mechanical  hand  explaining  its 
art  to  the  ignorant  fingers  of  genius.  Ermine  had 
taken  lessons  all  her  life,  but  she  had  never  produced 
an  original  picture,  only  copies. 

At  last  the  lesson  was  interrupted  by  a  voice  from 
below,  "  Sol,  Sol,  supper  's  ready ! "  No  one  stirred 
until,  feeling  some  sympathy  for  the  amount  of  work 
which  my  ears  told  me  had  been  going  on  below,  I 
woke  up  the  two  enthusiasts  and  took  them  away  from 
the  easel  down  stairs  into  the  keeping-room,  where  a 
loaded  table  and  a  scarlet  hostess  bore  witness  to  the 
truth  of  my  surmise.  Strange  things  we  ate  that 
night,  dishes  unheard  of  in  towns,  but  not  unpalatable. 
Ermine  had  the  one  china  cup  for  her  corn-coffee ;  her 
grand  air  always  secured  her  such  favors.  Tuscarora 
was  there  and  ate  of  the  best,  now  and  then  laying  his 
shaggy  head  on  the  table,  and,  as  his  master  said, 
"  smiling  at  us " ;  evidently  the  evening  was  his  gala 
time.  It  was  nearly  nine  when  the  feast  was  ended, 
and  I  immediately  proposed  retiring  to  bed,  for,  having 
but  little  art  enthusiasm,  I  dreaded  a  vigil  in  that 
dreary  attic.  Solomon  looked  disappointed,  but  I 
ruthlessly  carried  off  Ermine  to  the  opposite  room, 
which  we  afterwards  suspected  was  the  apartment  of 
our  hosts,  freshened  and  set  in  order  in  our  honor. 
The  sound  of  the  rain  on  the  piazza  roof  lulled  us  soon 
to  sleep,  in  spite  of  the  strange  surroundings ;  but  more 


SOLOMON.  263 

than  once  I  woke  and  wondered  where  I  was,  suddenly- 
remembering  the  lonely  house  in  its  lonely  valley  with 
a  shiver  of  discomfort.  The  next  morning  we  woke  at 
our  usual  hour,  but  some  time  after  the  miner's  de 
parture;  breakfast  was  awaiting  us  in  the  keeping- 
room,  and  our  hostess  said  that  an  ox-team  from  the 
Community  would  come  for  us  before  nine.  She 
seemed  sorry  to  part  with  us,  and  refused  any  remu 
neration  for  our  stay;  but  none  the  less  did  we  promise 
ourselves  to  send  some  dresses  and  even  ornaments 

from  C ,  to  feed  that  poor,  starving  love  of  finery. 

As  we  rode  away  in  the  ox-cart,  the  Eoarer  looked 
wistfully  after  us  through  the  bars;  but  his  melancholy, 
mood  was  upon  him  again,  and  he  had  not  the  heart 
even  to  wag  his  tail. 

As  we  were  sitting  in  the  hotel  parlor,  in  front  of 
our  soft-coal  fire  in  the  evening  of  the  following  day, 
and  discussing  whether  or  no  we  should  return  to  the 
city  within  the  week,  the  old  landlord  entered  without 
his  broad-brimmed  hat,  —  an  unusual  attention,  since 
he  was  a  trustee  and  a  man  of  note  in  the  Community, 
and  removed  his  hat  for  no  one  nor  nothing ;  we  even 
suspected  that  he  slept  in  it. 

"  You  know  Zolomon  Barngs,"  he  said,  slowly. 

"  Yes,"  we  answered. 

"  Well,  he 's  dead.  Kilt  in  de  mine."  And  putting 
on  the  hat,  removed,  we  now  saw,  in  respect  for  death, 
he  left  the  room  as  suddenly  as  he  had  entered  it.  As 


264  SOLOMON. 

it  happened,  we  had  been  discussing  the  couple,  I,  as 
usual,  contending  for  the  wife,  and  Ermine,  as  usual, 
advocating  the  cause  of  the  husband. 

"  Let  us  go  out  there  immediately  to  see  her,  poor 
woman ! "  I  said,  rising. 

"  Yes,  poor  man,  we  will  go  to  him ! "  said  Ermine. 

"But  the  man  is  dead,  cousin." 

"  Then  he  shall  at  least  have  one  kind,  friendly 
glance  before  he  is  carried  to  his  grave,"  answered 
Ermine,  quietly. 

In  a  short  time  we  set  out  in  the  darkness,  and 
dearly  did  we  have  to  pay  for  the  night-ride ;  no  one 
could  understand  the  motive  of  our  going,  but  money 
was  money,  and  we  could  pay  for  all  peculiarities.  It 
was  a  dark  night,  and  the  ride  seemed  endless  as  the 
oxen  moved  slowly  on  through  the  red-clay  mire.  At 
last  we  reached  the  turn  and  saw  the  little  lonely 
house  with  its  upper  room  brightly  lighted. 

"  He  is  in  the  studio,"  said  Ermine ;  and  so  it  proved. 
He  was  not  dead,  but  dying ;  not  maimed,  but  poisoned 
by  the  gas  of  the  mine,  and  rescued  too  late  for  re 
covery.  They  had  placed  him  upon  the  floor  on  a 
couch  of  blankets,  and  the  dull-eyed  Community  doc 
tor  stood  at  his  side.  "  No  good,  no  good,"  he  said ; 
"he  must  die."  And  then,  hearing  of  the  returning 
cart,  he  left  us,  and  we  could  hear  the  tramp  of  the 
oxen  over  the  little  bridge,  on  their  way  back  to  the 
village. 


SOLOMON.  265 

The  dying  man's  head  lay  upon  his  wife's  breast, 
and  her  arms  supported  him;  she  did  not  speak,  but 
gazed  at  us  with  a  dumb  agony  in  her  large  eyes. 
Ermine  knelt  down  and  took  the  lifeless  hand  streaked 
with  coal-dust  in  both  her  own.  "  Solomon,"  she  said, 
in  her  soft,  clear  voice,  "  do  you  know  me  ? " 

The  closed  eyes  opened  slowly,  and  fixed  themselves 
upon  her  face  a  moment:  then  they  turned  towards 
the  window,  as  if  seeking  something.  , 

"  It 's  the  picter  he  means,"  said  the  wife.  "  He  sat 
up  most  all  last  night  a  doing  it." 

I  lighted  all  the  candles,  and  Ermine  brought  for 
ward  the  easel;  upon  it  stood  a  sketch  in  charcoal 
wonderful  to  behold,  —  the  same  face,  the  face  of  the 
faded  wife,  but  so  noble  in  its  idealized  beauty  that 
it  might  have  been  a  portrait  of  her  glorified  face  in 
Paradise.  It  was  a  profile,  with  the  eyes  upturned,  — 
a  mere  outline,  but  grand  in  conception  and  expression. 
I  gazed  in  silent  astonishment. 

Ermine  said,  "  Yes,  I  knew  you  could  do  it,  Solomon. 
It  is  perfect  of  its  kind."  The  shadow  of  a  smile  stole 
over  the  pallid  face,  and  then  the  husband's  fading 
gaze  turned  upward  to  meet  the  wild,  dark  eyes  of 
the  wife. 

"  It 's  you,  Dorcas,"  he  murmured ;  "  that 's  how  you 
looked  to  me,  but  I  never  could  get  it  right  before." 
She  bent  over  him,  and  silently  we  watched  the  coming 
of  the  shadow  of  death  ;  he  spoke  only  once,  "  My  rose 


266  SOLOMON. 

of  Sharon  —  "  And  then  in  a  moment  he  was  gone, 
the  poor  artist  was  dead. 

Wild,  wild  was  the  grief  of  the  ungoverned  heart 
left  behind;  she  was  like  a  mad-woman,  and  our 
united  strength  was  needed  to  keep  her  from  injuring 
herself  in  her  frenzy.  I  was  frightened,  but  Ermine's 
strong  little  hands  and  lithe  arms  kept  her  down  until, 
exhausted,  she  lay  motionless  near  her  dead  husband. 
Then  we  carried  her  down  stairs  and  I  watched  by  the 
bedside,  while  my  cousin  went  back  to  the  studio. 
She  was  absent  some  time,  and  then  she  came  back 
to  keep  the  vigil  with  me  through  the  long,  still  night. 
At  dawn  the  woman  woke,  and  her  face  looked  aged 
in  the  gray  light.  She  was  quiet,  and  took  without  a 
word  the  food  we  had  prepared,  awkwardly  enough,  in 
the  keeping-room. 

"I  must  go  to  him,  I  must  go  to  him,"  she  mur 
mured,  as  we  led  her  back. 

"  Yes,"  said  Ermine,  "  but  first  let  me  make  you  tidy. 
He  loved  to  see  you  neat."  And  with  deft,  gentle 
touch  she  dressed  the  poor  creature,  arranging  the 
heavy  hair  so  artistically  that,  for  the  first  time,  I  saw 
what  she  might  have  been,  and  understood  the  hus 
band's  dream. 

"What  is  that?"  I  said,  as  a  peculiar  sound  star 
tled  us. 

"It's  Eoarer.  He  was  tied  up  last  night,  but  I 
suppose  he's  gnawed  the  rope,"  said  the  woman.  I 


SOLOMON,  267 

opened  the  hall  door,  and  in  stalked  the  great  dog, 
smelling  his  way  directly  up  the  stairs. 

"  0,  he  must  not  go  ! "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Yes,  let  him  go,  he  loved  his  master,"  said  Ermine ; 
"  we  will  go  too."  So  silently  we  all  went  up  into  the 
chamber  of  death. 

The  pictures  had  been  taken  down  from  the  walls, 
but  the  wonderful  sketch  remained  on  the  easel,  which 
had  been  moved  to  the  head  of  the  couch  where  Solo 
mon  lay.  His  long,  light  hair  was  smooth,  his  face 
peacefully  quiet,  and  on  his  breast  lay  the  beautiful 
bunch  of  autumn  leaves  which  he  had  arranged  in  our 
honor.  It  was  a  striking  picture,  —  the  noble  face  of 
the  sketch  above,  and  the  dead  face  of  the  artist  below. 
It  brought  to  my  mind  a  design  I  had  once  seen,  where 
Fame  with  her  laurels  came  at  last  to  the  door  of  the 
poor  .artist  and  gently  knocked ;  but  he  had  died  the 
night  before ! 

The  dog  lay  at  his  master's  feet,  nor  stirred  until 
Solomon  was  carried  out  to  his  grave. 

The  Community  buried  the  miner  in  one  corner  of 
the  lonely  little  meadow.  No  service  had  they  and  no 
mound  was  raised  to  mark  the  spot,  for  such  was  their 
custom ;  but  in  the  early  spring  we  went  down  again 
into  the  valley,  and  placed  a  block  of  granite  over  the 
grave.  It  bore  the  inscription :  — 

SOLOMON. 
He  will  finish  his  work  in  Heaven. 


268  SOLOMON. 

Strange  as  it  may  seem,  the  wife  pined  for  her  artist 
husband.  We  found  her  in  the  Community  trying  to 
work,  but  so  aged  and  bent  that  we  hardly  knew  her. 
Her  large  eyes  had  lost  their  peevish  discontent,  and 
a  great  sadness  had  taken  the  place. 

"  Seems  like  I  could  n't  get  on  without  Sol,"  she 
said,  sitting  with  us  in  the  hotel  parlor  after  work- 
hours.  "  I  kinder  miss  his  voice,  and  all  them  names 
he  used  to  call  me;  he  got  'em  out  of  the  Bible,  so 
they  must  have  been  good,  you  know.  He  always 
thought  everything  I  did  was  right,  and  he  thought 
no  end  of  my  good  looks,  too ;  I  suppose  I  've  lost  'em 
all  now.  He  was  mighty  fond  of  me ;  nobody  in  all 
the  world  cares  a  straw  for  me  now.  Even  Koarer 
would  n't  stay  with  me,  for  all  I  petted  him  ;  he  kep'  a 
going  out  to  that  meader  and  a  lying  by  Sol,  until,  one 
day,  we  found  him  there  dead.  He  just  died  of  sheer 
loneliness,  I  reckon.  I  sha'  n't  have  to  stop  long  I 
know,  because  I  keep  a  dreaming  of  Sol,  and  he  always 
looks  at  me  like  he  did  when  I  first  knew  him.  He 
was  a  beautiful  boy  when  I  first  saw  him  on  that  load 
of  wood  coming  into  Sandy.  Well,  ladies,  I  must  go. 
Thank  you  kindly  for  all  you  've  done  for  me.  And 
say,  Miss  Stuart,  when  I  die  you  shall  have  that  coal 
picter ;  no  one  else  'ud  vally  it  so  much." 

Three  months  after,  while  we  were  at  the  sea-shore, 
Ermine  received  a  long  tin  case,  directed  in  a  peculiar 
handwriting ;  it  had  been  forwarded  from  C ,  and 


SOLOMON.  269 

contained  the  sketch  and  a  note  from  the  Commu 
nity. 

"E.  STUART:  The  woman  Dorcas  Bangs  died  this 
day.  She  will  be  put  away  by  the  side  of  her  hus 
band,  Solomon  Bangs.  She  left  the  enclosed  picture, 
which  we  hereby  send,  and  which  please  acknowledge 

by  return  of  mail. 

"  JACOB  BOLL,  Trustee!' 

I  unfolded  the  wrappings  and  looked  at  the  sketch. 
"  It  is  indeed  striking,"  I  said.  "  She  must  have  been 
beautiful  once,  poor  woman ! " 

"  Let  us  hope  that  at  least  she  is  beautiful  now,  for 
her  husband's  sake,  poor  man ! "  replied  Ermine. 

Even  then  we  could  not  give  up  our  preferences. 


WILHELMINA. 


"  A  N"D  so,  Mina,  you  will  not  marry  the  baker  ? " 
JL\:  "  No ;  I  waits  for  Gustav." 

"  How  long  is  it  since  you  have  seen  him  ? " 

"Three  year;  it  was  a  three-year  regi-ment." 

"  Then  he  will  soon  be  home  ? " 

"I  not  know,"  answered  the  girl,  with  a  wistful 
look  in  her  dark  eyes,  as  if  asking  information  from 
the  superior  being  who  sat  in  the  skiff,  —  a  being  from 
the  outside  world  where  newspapers,  the  modern  Tree 
of  Knowledge,  were  not  forbidden. 

"  Perhaps  he  will  re-enlist,  and  stay  three  years 
longer,"  I  said. 

"  Ah,  lady,  —  six  year  !  It  breaks  the  heart,"  an 
swered  Wilhelmina. 

She  was  the  gardener's  daughter,  a  member  of  the 
Community  of  German  Separatists  who  live  secluded 
in  one  of  Ohio's  rich  valleys,  separated  by  their  own 
broad  acres  and  orchard-covered  hills  from  the  busy 
world  outside;  down  the  valley  flows  the  tranquil 
Tuscarawas  on  its  way  to  the  Muskingum,  its  slow 


WILHELMINA.  271 

tide  rolling  through  the  fertile  bottom-lands  between 
stone  dikes,  and  utilized  to  the  utmost  extent  of  care 
fulness  by  the  thrifty  brothers,  now  working  a  saw 
mill  on  the  bank,  now  sending  a  tributary  to  the 
flour-mill  across  the  canal,  and  now  branching  off  in 
a  sparkling  race  across  the  valley  to  turn  wheels  for 
two  or  three  factories,  watering  the  great  grass-meadow 
on  the  way.  We  were  floating  on  this  river  in  a 
skiff  named  by  myself  Der  Fliegende  Hollander, 
much  to  the  slow  wonder  of  the  Zoarites,  who  did 
not  understand  how  a  Dutchman  could,  nor  why  he 
should,  fly.  Wilhelmina  sat  before  me,  her  oars  idly 
trailing  in  the  water.  She  showed  a  Nubian  head 
above  her  white  kerchief:  large-lidded  soft  brown 
eyes,  heavy  braids  of  dark  hair,  a  creamy  skin  with 
purple  tints  in  the  lips  and  brown  shadows  under 
the  eyes,  and  a  far-off  dreamy  expression  which  even 
the  steady,  monotonous  toil  of  Community  life  had 
riot  been  able  to  efface.  She  wore  the  blue  dress 
and  white  kerchief  of  the  society,  the  quaint  little  cal 
ico  bonnet  lying  beside  her  ;  she  was  a  small  maiden  ; 
her  slender  form  swayed  in  the  stiff,  short-waisted 
gown,  her  feet  slipped  about  in  the  broad  shoes,  and 
her  hands,  roughened  and  browned  with  garden-work, 
were  yet  narrow  and  graceful.  From  the  first  we 
felt  sure  she  was  grafted,  and  not  a  shoot  from  the 
Community  stalk.  But  we  could  learn  nothing  of  her 
origin ;  the  Zoarites  are  not  communicative ;  they  fill 


272  WILHELMINA. 

each  day  with  twelve  good  hours  of  labor,  and  look 
neither  forward  nor  back.  "  She  is  a  daughter," 
said  the  old  gardener  in  answer  to  our  questions. 
"  Adopted  ? "  I  suggested ;  but  he  vouchsafed  no  an 
swer.  I  liked  the  little  daughter's  dreamy  face,  but 
she  was  pale  and  undeveloped,  like  a  Southern  flower 
growing  in  Northern  soil ;  the  rosy-cheeked,  flaxen- 
haired  Rosines,  Salomes,  and  Dorotys,  with  their  broad 
shoulders  and  ponderous  tread,  thought  this  brown 
changeling  ugly,  and  pitied  her  in  their  slow,  good- 
natured  way. 

"  It  breaks  the  heart,"  said  Wilhelmina  again, 
softly,  as  if  to  herself. 

I  repented  me  of  my  thoughtlessness.  "  In  any 
case  he  can  come  back  for  a  few  days,"  I  hastened 
to  say.  "  What  regiment  was  it  ? " 

"The  One  Hundred  and  Seventh,  lady." 

I  had  a  Cleveland  paper  in  my  basket,  and  taking 
it  out  I  glanced  over  the  war-news  column,  carelessly, 
as  one  who  does  not  expect  to  find  what  he  seeks. 
But  chance  was  with  us,  and  gave  this  item :  "  The 
One  Hundred  and  Seventh  Eegiment,  0.  V.  I.,  is 
expected  home  next  week.  The  men  will  be  paid 
off  at  Camp  Chase." 

"  Ah ! "  said  Wilhelmina,  catching  her  breath  with 
a  half-sob  under  her  tightly  drawn  kerchief,  —  "  ah, 
mein  Gustav ! " 

"Yes,  you  will   soon   see   him,"  I  answered,  bend- 


WILHELMINA.  273 

ing  forward  to  take  the  rough  little  hand  in  mine; 
for  I  was  a  romantic  wife,  and  my  heart  went  out 
to  all  lovers.  But  the  girl  did  not  notice  my  words 
or  my  touch ;  silently  she  sat,  absorbed  in  her  own 
emotion,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  hilltops  far  away, 
as  though  she  saw  the  regiment  marching  home 
through  the  blue  June  sky. 

I  took  the  oars  and  rowed  up  as  far  as  the  island, 
letting  the  skiff  float  back  with  the  current.  Other 
boats  were  out,  filled  with  fresh-faced  boys  in  their 
high-crowned  hats,  long-waisted,  wide-flapped  vests 
of  calico,  and  funny  little  swallow-tailed  coats  with 
buttons  up  under  the  shoulder-blades ;  they  appeared 
unaccountably  long  in  front  and  short  behind,  these 
young  Zoar  brethren.  On  the  vine-covered  dike 
were  groups  of  mothers  and  grave  little  children,  and 
up  in  the  hill-orchards  were  moving  figures,  young 
and  old ;  the  whole  village  was  abroad  in  the  lovely 
afternoon,  according  to  their  Sunday  custom,  which 
gave  the  morning  to  chorals  and  a  long  sermon  in 
the  little  church,  and  the  afternoon  to  nature,  even 
old  Christian,  the  pastor,  taking  his  imposing  white 
fur  hat  and  tasselled  cane  for  a  walk  through  the 
Community  fields,  with  the  remark,  "  Thus  is  cheered 
the  heart  of  man,  and  his  countenance  refreshed." 

As  the  sun  sank  in  the  warm  western  sky,  home 
ward  came  the  villagers  from  the  river,  the  orchards, 

and  the  meadows,  men,  women,  and  children,  a  hardy, 
18 


274  WILHELMINA. 

simple-minded  band,  whose  fathers,  for  religion's  sake, 
had  taken  the  long  journey  from  Wiirtemberg  across 
the  ocean  to  this  distant  valley,  and  made  it  a  garden 
of  rest  in  the  wilderness.  We,  too,  landed,  and 
walked  up  the  apple-tree  lane  towards  the  hotel. 

"The  cows  come,"  said  Wilhelmina  as  we  heard  a 
distant  tinkling ;  "  I  must  go."  But  still  she  lingered. 
"  Der  regi-ment,  it  come  soon,  you  say  ? "  she  asked 
in  a  low  voice,  as  though  she  wanted  to  hear  the 
good  news  again  and  again. 

"  They  will  be  paid  off  next  week ;  they  cannot  be 
later  than  ten  days  from  now." 

"  Ten  day  !  Ah,  mein  Gustav,"  murmured  the  little 
maiden ;  she  turned  away  and  tied  on  her  stiff  bonnet, 
furtively  wiping  off  a  tear  with  her  prim  handkerchief 
folded  in  a  square. 

"  Why,  my  child,"  I  said,  following  her  and  stooping 
to  look  in  her  face,  "  what  is  this  ? " 

"  It  is  nothing ;  it  is  for  glad,  —  for  very  glad,"  said 
Wilhelmina.  Away  she  ran  as  the  first  solemn  cow 
came  into  view,  heading  the  long  procession  meander 
ing  slowly  towards  the  stalls.  They  knew  nothing  of 
haste,  these  dignified  Community  cows ;  from  stall  to 
pasture,  from  pasture  to  stall,  in  a  plethora  of  comfort, 
this  was  their  life.  The  silver-haired  shepherd  came 
last  with  his  staff  and  scrip,  and  the  nervous  shepherd- 
dog  ran  hither  and  thither  in  the  hope  of  finding  some 
cow  to  bark  at ;  but  the  comfortable  cows  moved  on  in 


WILHELMINA.  275 

orderly  ranks,  and  he  was  obliged  to  dart  off  on  a  tan 
gent  every  now  and  then,  and  bark  at  nothing,  to  re 
lieve  his  feelings.  Beaching  the  paved  court-yard  each 
cow  walked  into  her  own  stall,  and  the  milking  began. 
All  the  girls  took  part  in  this  work,  sitting  on  little 
stools  and  singing  together  as  the  milk  frothed  up  in 
the  tin  pails;  the  pails  were  emptied  into  tubs,  and 
when  the  tubs  were  full  the  girls  bore  them  on  their 
heads  to  the  dairy,  where  the  milk  was  poured  into  a 
huge  strainer,  a  constant  procession  of  girls  with  tubs 
above  and  the  old  milk-mother  ladling  out  as  fast  as 
she  could  below.  With  the  bee-hives  near  by,  it  was 
a  realization  of  the  Scriptural  phrase,  "  A  land  flowing 
with  milk  and  honey/' 

The  next  morning,  after  breakfast,  I  strolled  up  the 
still  street,  leaving  the  Wirthshaus  with  its  pointed 
roof  behind  me.  On  the  right  were  some  ancient  cot 
tages  built  of  crossed  timbers  filled  in  with  plaster; 
sundials  hung  on  the  walls,  and  each  house  had  its 
piazza,  where,  when  the  work  of  the  day  was  over,  the 
families  assembled,  often  singing  folk-songs  to  the  mu 
sic  of  their  home-made  flutes  and  pipes.  On  the  left 
stood  the  residence  of  the  first  pastor,  the  reverend 
man  who  had  led  these  sheep  to  their  refuge  in  the 
wilds  of  the  New  World.  It  was  a  wide-spreading 
brick  mansion,  with  a  broadside  of  white-curtained 
windows,  an  enclosed  glass  porch,  iron  railings,  and 
gilded  eaves;  a  building  so  stately  among  the  sur- 


276  WILHELMINA. 

rounding  cottages  that  it  had  gained  from  outsiders 
the  name  of  the  King's  Palace,  although  the  good  man 
whose  grave  remains  unmarked  in  the  quiet  God's 
Acre,  according  to  the  Separatist  custom,  was  a  father 
to  his  people,  not  a  king. 

Beyond  the  palace  began  the  Community  garden,  a 
large  square  in  the  centre  of  the  village  filled  with 
flowers  and  fruit,  adorned  with  arbors  and  cedar-trees 
clipped  in  the  form  of  birds,  and  enriched  with  an  old- 
style  greenhouse  whose  sliding  glasses  were  viewed 
with  admiration  by  the  visitors  of  thirty  years  ago, 
who  sent  their  choice  plants  thither  from  far  and  near 
to  be  tended  through  the  long,  cold  lake-country  win 
ters.  The  garden,  the  cedars,  and  the  greenhouse  were 
all  antiquated,  but  to  me  none  the  less  charming.  The 
spring  that  gushed  up  in  one  corner,  the  old-fashioned 
flowers  in  their  box-bordered  beds,  larkspur,  lady  slip 
pers,  bachelor's  buttons,  peonies,  aromatic  pinks,  and 
all  varieties  of  roses,  the  arbors  with  red  honeysuckle 
overhead  and  tan  bark  under  foot,  were  all  delightful ; 
and  I  knew,  also,  that  I  should  find  the  gardener's 
daughter  at  her  never-ending  task  of  weeding.  This 
time  it  was  the  strawberry  bed.  "  I  have  come  to  sit 
in  your  pleasant  garden,  Mina,"  I  said,  taking  a  seat 
on  a  shaded  bench  near  the  bending  figure. 

"  So  ? "  said  Wilhelmina  in  long-drawn  interroga 
tion,  glancing  up  shyly  with  a  smile.  She  was  a  child 
of  the  sun,  this  little  maiden,  and  while  her  blond 


WILHELMINA.  277 

companions  wore  always  their  bonnets  or  broad- 
brimmed  hats  over  their  precise  caps,  Wilhelmina,  as 
now,  constantly  discarded  these  coverings  and  sat  in 
the  sun  basking  like  a  bird  of  the  tropics.  In  truth, 
it  did  not  redden  her;  she  was  one  of  those  whose 
coloring  comes  not  from  without,  but  withia 

"  Do  you  like  this  work,  Mina  ? " 

"  O  —  so.     Good  as  any." 

"Do  you  like  work?" 

"  Folks  must  work."  This  was  said  gravely,  as 
part  of  the  Community  creed. 

"  Would  n't  you  like  to  go  with  me  to  the  city  ? " 

"  No  ;  I 's  better  here." 

"  But  you  can  see  the  great  world,  Mina.  You 
need  not  work,  I  will  take  care  of  you.  You  shall 
have  pretty  dresses ;  would  n't  you  like  that  ? "  I 
asked,  curious  to  discover  the  secret  of  the  Separatist 
indifference  to  everything  outside. 

"Nein,"  answered  the  little  maiden,  tranquilly; 
"nein,  fraulein.  Ich  bin  zufrieden." 

Those  three  words  were  the  key.  "  I  am  contented." 
So  were  they  taught  from  childhood,  and  —  I  was 
about  to  say  —  they  knew  no  better;  but,  after  all, 
is  there  anything  better  to  know  ? 

We  talked  on,  for  Mina  understood  English,  although 
many  of  her  mates  could  chatter  only  in  their  Wiir- 
temberg  dialect,  whose  provincialisms  confused  my 
carefully  learned  German ;  I  was  grounded  in  Goethe, 


278  WILHELMINA. 

well  read  in  Schiller,  and  struggling  with  Jean  Paul, 
who,  fortunately,  is  "  der  Einzige,"  the  only ;  another 
such  would  destroy  life.  At  length  a  bell  sounded, 
and  forthwith  work  was  laid  aside  in  the  fields,  the 
workshops,  and  the  houses,  while  all  partook  of  a 
light  repast,  one  of  the  five  meals  with  which  the  long 
summer  day  of  toil  is  broken.  Flagons  of  beer  had 
the  men  afield,  with  bread  and  cheese;  the  women 
took  bread  and  apple-butter.  But  Mina  did  not  care 
for  the  thick  slice  which  the  thrifty  house-mother  had 
provided;  she  had  not  the  steady  unfanciful  appetite 
of  the  Community  which  eats  the  same  food  day  after 
day,  as  the  cow  eats  its  grass,  desiring  no  change. 

"  And  the  gardener  really  wishes  you  to  marry  Ja 
cob  ? "  I  said  as  she  sat  on  the  grass  near  me,  enjoying 
the  rest. 

"  Yes.     Jacob  is  good,  —  always  the  same." 

"And  Gustav?" 

"  Ah,  mein  Gustav !  Lady,  he  is  young,  tall,  —  so 
tall  as  tree;  he  run,  he  sing,  his  eyes  like  veilchen 
there,  his  hair  like  gold.  If  I  see  him  not  soon,  lady, 
I  die!  The  year  so  long,  —  so  long  they  are.  Three 
year  without  Gustav  ! "  The  brown  eyes  grew  dim,  and 
out  came  the  square-folded  handkerchief,  of  colored 
calico  for  week-days. 

"  But  it  will  not  be  long  now,  Mina." 

"Yes;  I  hope." 

"  He  writes  to  you,  I  suppose  ? " 


WILHELMINA.  279 

"No.  Gustav  knows  not  to  write,  he  not  like 
school.  But  he  speak  through  the  other  boys,  Ernst 
the  verliebte  of  Kosine,  and  Peter  of  Doroty." 

"  The  Zoar  soldiers  were  all  young  men  ? " 

"  Yes  ;  all  verliebte.  Some  are  not ;  they  have  gone 
to  the  Next  Country"  (died). 

"Killed  in  battle?" 

"  Yes ;  on  the  berge  that  looks,  —  what  you  call,  I 
not  know  —  " 

"  Lookout  Mountain  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  Were  the  boys  volunteers  ? "  I  asked,  remember 
ing  the  Community  theory  of  non-resistance. 

"  0  yes ;  they  volunteer,  Gustav  the  first.  They  not 
drafted,"  said  Wilhelmina,  proudly.  For  these  two 
words,  so  prominent  during  the  war,  had  penetrated 
even  into  this  quiet  valley. 

"  But  did  the  trustees  approve  ? " 

"  Apperouve  ? " 

"I  mean,  did  they  like  it?" 

"Ah!  they  like  it  not.  They  talk,  they  preach  in 
church,  they  say  '  No.'  Zoar  must  give  soldiers  ?  So. 
Then  they  take  money  and  pay  for  der  substitute; 
but  the  boys,  they  must  not  go." 

"  But  they  went,  in  spite  of  the  trustees  ? " 

"Yes;  Gustav  first.  They  go  in  night,  they  walk 
in  woods,  over  the  hills  to  Brownville,  where  is  der 
recruiter.  The  morning  come,  they  gone  !  " 


280  WILHELMINA. 

"  They  have  been  away  three  years,  you  say  ?  They 
have  seen  the  world  in  that  time,"  I  remarked  half 
to  myself,  as  I  thought  of  the  strange  mind- open 
ing  and  knowledge-gaining  of  those  years  to  youths 
brought  up  in  the  strict  seclusion  of  the  Commu 
nity. 

"  Yes ;  Gustav  have  seen  the  wide  world,"  answered 
Wilhelmina  with  pride. 

"But  will  they  be  content  to  step  back  into  the 
dull  routine  of  Zoar  life  ? "  I  thought ;  and  a  doubt 
came  that  made  me  scan  more  closely  the  face  of  the 
girl  at  rny  side.  To  me  it  was  attractive  because  of 
its  possibilities;  I  was  always  fancying  some  excite 
ment  that  would  bring  the  color  to  the  cheeks  and  full 
lips,  and  light  up  the  heavy-lidded  eyes  with  soft  bril 
liancy.  But  would  this  Gustav  see  these  might-be 
beauties  ?  And  how  far  would  the  singularly  ugly 
costume  offend  eyes  grown  accustomed  to  fanciful 
finery  and  gay  colors  ? 

"  You  fully  expect  to  marry  Gustav  ? "  I  asked. 

"We  are  verlobt,"  answered  Mina,  not  without  a 
little  air  of  dignity. 

"Yes,  I  know.     But  that  was  long  ago." 

"Verlobt  once,  verlobt  always,"  said  the  little 
maiden,  confidently. 

"  But  why,  then,  does  the  gardener  speak  of  Jacob, 
if  you  are  engaged  to  this  Gustav  ? " 

"  0,  fader  he  like  the  old,  and  Jacob  is  old,  thirty 


WILHELMINA.  281 

year !  His  wife  is  gone  to  the  Next  Country.  Jacob 
is  a  brother,  too ;  he  write  his  name  in  the  book.  But 
Gustav  he  not  do  so;  he  is  free." 

"  You  mean  that  the  baker  has  signed  the  articles, 
and  is  a  member  of  the  Community?" 

"  Yes ;  but  the  baker  is  old,  very  old ;  thirty  year ! 
Gustav  not  twenty  and  three  yet ;  he  come  home,  then 
he  sign." 

"  And  have  you  signed  these  articles,  Wilhel- 
mina  ? " 

"Yes;  all  the  womens  signs." 

"  What  does  the  paper  say  ? " 

"Da  ich  Unterzeichneter,"  —  began  the  girl. 

"  I  cannot  understand  that.     Tell  me  in  English." 

"  Well ;  you  wants  to  join  the  Zoar  Community  of 
Separatists ;  you  writes  your  name  and  says,  '  Give  me 
house,  victual,  and  clothes  for  my  work  and  I  join; 
and  I  never  fernerer  Forderung  an  besagte  Gesellschaft 
machen  kann,  oder  will/  " 

"  Will  never  make  further  demand  upon  said  soci 
ety,"  I  repeated,  translating  slowly. 

"  Yes ;  that  is  it." 

"But  who  takes  charge  of  all  the  money?" 

"The  trustees." 

"Don't  they  give  you  any?" 

"No;  for  what?  It  's  no  good,"  answered  Wil- 
helmina. 

I   knew  that   all  the  necessaries  of  life  were  dealt 


282  WILHELMINA. 

out  to  the  members  of  the  Community  according  to 
their  need,  and,  as  they  never  went  outside  of  their 
valley,  they  could  scarcely  have  spent  money  even  if 
they  had  possessed  it.  But,  nevertheless,  it  was  start 
ling  in  this  nineteenth  century  to  come  upon  a  sincere 
belief  in  the  worthlessness  of  the  green-tinted  paper 
we  cherish  so  fondly.  "  Gustav  will  have  learned  its 
value,"  I  thought,  as  Mina,  having  finished  the  straw 
berry-bed,  started  away  towards  the  dairy  to  assist 
in  the  butter-making. 

I  strolled  on  up  the  little  hill,  past  the  picturesque 
bakery,  where  through  the  open  window  I  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  "  old,  very  old  Jacob,"  a  serious  young 
man  of  thirty,  drawing  out  his  large  loaves  of  bread 
from  the  brick  oven  with  a  long-handled  rake.  It  was 
gingerbread-day  also,  and  a  spicy  odor  met  me  at  the 
window ;  so  I  put  in  my  head  and  asked  for  a  piece, 
receiving  a  card  about  a  foot  square,  laid  on  fresh 
grape-leaves. 

"  But  I  cannot  eat  all  this,"  I  said,  breaking  off  a 
corner. 

"  0,  dat  's  noding ! "  answered  Jacob,  beginning  to 
knead  fresh  dough  in  a  long  white  trough,  the  village 
supply  for  the  next  day. 

"  I  have  been  sitting  with  Wilhelmina,"  I  remarked, 
as  I  leaned  on  the  casement,  impelled  by  a  desire  to 
see  the  effect  of  the  name. 

"  So  ? "  said  Jacob,  interrogatively. 


WILHELMINA.  283 

"Yes;  she  is  a  sweet  girl." 

"So?"  (doubtfully.) 

"  Don't  you  think  so,  Jacob  ? " 

"  Ye-es.  So-so.  A  leetle  black/'  answered  this  im 
passive  lover. 

"  But  you  wish  to  marry  her  ? " 

"0,  ye-es.  She  young  and  strong;  her  fader  say 
she  good  to  work.  I  have  children  five ;  I  must  have 
some  one  in  the  house." 

"  0  Jacob  !     Is  that  the  way  to  talk  ? "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Warum  nicht  ? "  replied  the  baker,  pausing  in  his 
kneading,  and  regarding  me  with  wide-open,  candid 
eyes. 

"  "Why  not,  indeed  ? "  I  thought,  as  I  turned  away 
from  the  window.  "  He  is  at  least  honest,  and  no 
doubt  in  his  way  he  would  be  a  kind  husband  to  little 
Mina.  But  what  a  way  ! " 

I  walked  on  up  the  street,  passing  the  pleasant 
house  where  all  the  infirm  old  women  of  the  Com 
munity  were  lodged  together,  carefully  tended  by  ap 
pointed  nurses.  The  aged  sisters  were  out  on  the 
piazza  sunning  themselves,  like  so  many  old  cats. 
They  were  bent  with  hard,  out-door  labor,  for  they 
belonged  to  the  early  days  when  the  wild  forest  cov 
ered  the  fields  now  so  rich,  and  only  a  few  log-cabins 
stood  on  the  site  of  the  tidy  cottages  and  gardens  of 
the  present  village.  Some  of  them  had  taken  the  long 
journey  on  foot  from  Philadelphia  westward,  four  him- 


284  WILHELMINA. 

dred  and  fifty  miles,  in  the  depths  of  winter.  Well 
might  they  rest  from  their  labors  and  sit  in  the  sun 
shine,  poor  old  souls  ! 

A  few  days  later,  my  friendly  newspaper  mentioned 
the  arrival  of  the  German  regiment  at  Camp  Chase. 
"  They  will  probably  be  paid  off  in  a  day  or  two,"  I 
thought,  "  and  another  day  may  bring  them  here." 
Eager  to  be  the  first  to  tell  the  good  news  to  my  little 
favorite,  I  hastened  up  to  the  garden,  and  found  her 
engaged,  as  usual,  in  weeding. 

"  Mina,"  I  said,  "  I  have  something  to  tell  you.  The 
regiment  is  at  Camp  Chase ;  you  will  see  Gustav  soon, 
perhaps  this  week." 

And  there,  before  my  eyes,  the  transformation  I  had 
often  fancied  took  place ;  the  color  rushed  to  the  brown 
surface,  the  cheeks  and  lips  glowed  in  vivid  red,  and  the 
heavy  eyes  opened  wide  and  shone  like  stars,  with  a 
brilliancy  that  astonished  and  even  disturbed  me.  The 
statue  had  a  soul  at  last;  the  beauty  dormant  had 
awakened.  But  for  the  fire  of  that  soul  would  this 
expected  Pygmalion  suffice  ?  Would  the  real  prince 
fill  his  place  in  the  long-cherished  dreams  of  this 
beauty  of  the  wood? 

The  girl  had  risen  as  I  spoke,  and  now  she  stood 
erect,  trembling  with  excitement,  her  hands  clasped  on 
her  breast,  breathing  quickly  and  heavily  as  though  an 
overweight  of  joy  was  pressing  down  her  heart;  her 
eyes  were  fixed  upon  my  face,  but  she  saw  me  not. 


WILHELMINA.  285 

Strange  was  her  gaze,  like  the  gaze  of  one  walking  in 
sleep.  Her  sloping  shoulders  seemed  to  expand  and 
chafe  against  the  stuff  gown  as  though  they  would 
burst  their  bonds;  the  blood  glowed  in  her  face  and 
throat,  and  her  lips  quivered,  not  as  though  tears  were 
coming,  but  from  the  fulness  of  unuttered  speech. 
Her  emotion  resembled  the  intensest  fire  of  fever,  and 
yet  it  seemed  natural ;  like  noon  in  the  tropics  when 
the  gorgeous  flowers  flame  in  the  white,  shadowless 
heat.  Thus  stood  Wilhelmina,  looking  up  into  the  sky 
with  eyes  that  challenged  the  sun. 

"  Come  here,  child,"  I  said ;  "  come  here  and  sit  by 
me.  We  will  talk  about  it." 

But  she  neither  saw  nor  heard  me.  I  drew  her 
down  on  the  bench  at  my  side;  she  yielded  uncon 
sciously;  her  slender  form  throbbed,  and  pulses  were 
beating  under  my  hands  wherever  I  touched  her. 
"Mina !"  I  said  again.  But  she  did  not  answer.  Like 
an  unfolding  rose,  she  revealed  her  hidden,  beautiful 
heart,  as  though  a  spirit  had  breathed  upon  the  bud ; 
silenced  in  the  presence  of  this  great  love,  I  ceased 
speaking,  and  left  her  to  herself.  After  a  time  single 
words  fell  from  her  lips,  broken  utterances  of  happi 
ness.  I  was  as  nothing ;  she  was  absorbed  in  the  One. 
"  Gustav !  mein  Gustav ! "  It  was  like  the  bird's  note, 
oft  repeated,  ever  the  same.  So  isolated,  so  intense 
was  her  joy,  that,  as  often  happens,  my  mind  took  ref 
uge  in  the  opposite  extreme  of  commonplace,  and  I 


286  WILHELMINA. 

found  myself  wondering  whether  she  would  be  able 
to  eat  boiled  beef  and  cabbage  for  dinner,  or  fill  the 
soft-soap  barrel  for  the  laundry- women,  later  in  the  day. 

All  the  morning  I  sat  under  the  trees  with  Wil- 
helmina,  who  had  forgotten  her  life-long  tasks  as 
completely  as  though  they  had  never  existed.  I  hated 
to  leave  her  to  the  leather- colored  wife  of  the  old 
gardener,  and  lingered  until  the  sharp  voice  came 
out  from  the  distant  house-door,  calling,  "Veel-hel- 
meeny"  as  the  twelve-o'clock  bell  summoned  the 
Community  to  dinner.  But  as  Mina  rose  and  swept 
back  the  heavy  braids  that  had  fallen  from  the  little 
ivory  stick  which  confined  them,  I  saw  that  she  was 
armed  cap-a-pie  in  that  full  happiness  from  which 
all  weapons  glance  off  harmless. 

All  the  rest  of  the  day  she  was  like  a  thing  pos 
sessed.  I  followed  her  to  the  hill-pasture,  whither 
she  had  gone  to  mind  the  cows,  and  found  her  coiled 
up  on  the  grass  in  the  blaze  of  the  afternoon  sun, 
like  a  little  salamander.  She  was  Ipst  in  day-dreams, 
and  the  decorous  cows  had  a  holiday  for  once  in 
their  sober  lives,  wandering  beyond  bounds  at  will, 
and  even  tasting  the  dissipations  of  the  marsh,  stand 
ing  unheeded  in  the  bog  up  to  their  sleek  knees. 
Wilhelmina  had  not  many  words  to  give  me ;  her 
English  vocabulary  was  limited;  she  had  never  read 
a  line  of  romance  nor  a  verse  of  poetry.  The  nearest 
approach  to  either  was  the  Community  hymn-book, 


WILHELMINA.  287 

containing  the  Separatist  hymns,  of  which  the  follow 
ing  lines  are  a  specimen, 

"  Ruhe  1st  das  beste  Gut 
Dasz  man  haben  kann,"  — 

"Rest  is  the  best  good 
That  man  can  have,"  — 

and  which  embody  the  religious  doctrine  of  the  Zoar 
Brethren,  although  they  think,  apparently,  that  the 
labor  of  twelve  hours  each  day  is  necessary  to  its 
enjoyment.  The  "Kuhe,"  however,  refers  more  es 
pecially  to  their  quiet  seclusion  away  from  the  tur 
moil  of  the  wicked  world  outside. 

The  second  morning  after  this  it  was  evident  that 
an  unusual  excitement  was  abroad  in  the  phlegmatic 
village.  All  the  daily  duties  were  fulfilled  as  usual 
at  the  Wirthshaus  :  Pauline  went  up  to  the  bakery 
with  her  board,  and  returned  with  her  load  of  bread 
and  bretzels  balanced  on  her  head;  Jacobina  served 
our  coffee  with  her  slow  precision;  and  the  broad- 
shouldered,  young-faced  Lydia  patted  and  puffed  up 
our  mountain-high  feather-beds  with  due  care.  The 
men  went  afield  at  the  blast  of  the  horn,  the  work 
shops  were  full  and  the  mills  running.  But,  never 
theless,  all  was  not  the  same;  the  air  seemed  full 
of  mystery;  there  were  whisperings  when  two  met, 
furtive  signals,  and  an  inward  excitement  glowing 
in  the  faces  of  men,  women,  and  children,  hitherto 


288  WILHELMItfA. 

placid  as  their  own  sheep.  "They  have  heard  the 
news,"  I  said,  after  watching  the  tailor's  Gretchen 
and  the  blacksmith's  Barbara  stop  to  exchange  a 
whisper  behind  the  wood-house.  Later  in  the  day 
we  learned  that  several  letters  from  the  absent  sol 
dier-boys  had  been  received  that  morning,  announcing 
their  arrival  on  the  evening  train.  The  news  had 
flown  from  one  end  of  the  village  to  the  other;  and 
although  the  well-drilled  hands  were  all  at  work, 
hearts  were  stirring  with  the  greatest  excitement  of 
a  lifetime,  since  there  was  hardly  a  house  where 
there  was  not  one  expected.  Each  large  house  often 
held  a  number  of  families,  stowed  away  in  little  sets 
of  chambers,  with  one  dining-room  in  common. 

Several  times  during  the  day  we  saw  the  three 
trustees  conferring  apart  with  anxious  faces.  The  war 
had  been  a  sore  trouble  to  them,  owing  to  their  con 
scientious  scruples  against  rendering  military  service. 
They  had  hoped  to  remain  non-combatants.  But  the 
country  was  on  fire  with  patriotism,  and  nothing  less 
than  a  lona  fide  Separatist  in  United  States  uniform 
would  quiet  the  surrounding  towns,  long  jealous  of 
the  wealth  of  this  foreign  community,  misunderstand 
ing  its  tenets,  and  glowing  with  that  zeal  against  "sym 
pathizers"  which  kept  star-spangled  banners  flying 
over  every  suspected  house.  "  Hang  out  the  flag ! "  was 
their  cry,  and  they  demanded  that  Zoar  should  hang 
out  its  soldiers,  giving  them  to  understand  that  if  not 


WILHELMINA.  t  289 

voluntarily  hung  out,  they  would  soon  be  involuntarily 
hung  up !  A  draft  was  ordered,  and  then  the  young 
men  of  the  society,  who  had  long  chafed  against  their 
bonds,  broke  loose,  volunteered,  and  marched  away, 
principles  or  no  principles,  trustees  or  no  trustees. 
These  bold  hearts  once  gone,  the  village  sank  into  qui 
etude  again.  Their  letters,  however,  were  a  source  of 
anxiety,  coming  as  they  did  from  the  vain  outside 
world;  and  the  old  postmaster,  autocrat  though  he 
was,  hardly  dared  to  suppress  them.  But  he  said, 
shaking  his  head,  that  they  "  had  fallen  upon  troublous 
times,"  and  handed  each  dangerous  envelope  out  with 
a  groan.  But  the  soldiers  were  not  skilled  penmen; 
their  letters,  few  and  far  between,  at  length  stopped 
entirely.  Time  passed,  and  the  very  existence  of  the 
runaways  had  become  a  far-off  problem  to  the  wise 
men  of  the  Community,  absorbed  in  their  slow  calcula 
tions  and  cautious  agriculture,  when  now,  suddenly,  it 
forced  itself  upon  them  face  to  face,  and  they  were 
required  to  solve  it  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  The 
bold  hearts  were  coming  back,  full  of  knowledge  of  the 
outside  world;  almost  every  house  would  hold  one, 
and  the  bands  of  law  and  order  would  be  broken. 
Before  this  prospect  the  trustees  quailed.  Twenty 
years  before  they  would  have  forbidden  the  entrance 
of  these  unruly  sons  within  their  borders;  but  now 
they  dared  not,  since  even  into  Zoar  had  penetrated 

the  knowledge  that  America  was  a  free  country.     The 
19 


290  WILHELMINA. 

younger  generation  were  not  as  their  fathers  were; 
objections  had  been  openly  made  to  the  cut  of  the 
Sunday  coats,  and  the  girls  had  spoken  together  of 
ribbons ! 

The  shadows  of  twilight  seemed  very  long  in  fall 
ing  that  night,  but  at  last  there  was  no  further  ex 
cuse  for  delaying  the  evening  bell,  and  home  came 
the  laborers  to  their  evening  meal.  There  was  no 
moon,  a  soft  mist  obscured  the  stars,  and  the  night 
was  darkened  with  the  excess  of  richness  which  rose 
from  the  ripening  valley-fields  and  fat  bottom-lands 
along  the  river.  The  Community  store  opposite  the 
Wirthshaus  was  closed  early  in  the  evening,  the 
houses  of  the  trustees  were  dark,  and  indeed  the  vil 
lage  was  almost  unlighted,  as  if  to  hide  its  own  ex 
citement.  The  entire  population  was  abroad  in  the 
night,  and  one  by  one  the  men  and  boys  stole  away 
down  the  station  road,  a  lovely,  winding  track  on 
the  hillside,  following  the  river  on  its  way  down 
the  valley  to  the  little  station  on  the  grass-grown 
railroad,  a  branch  from  the  main  track.  As  ten 
o'clock  came,  the  women  and  girls,  grown  bold  with 
excitement,  gathered  in  the  open  space  in  front  of 
the  Wirthshaus,  where  the  lights  from  the  windows 
illumined  their  faces.  There  I  saw  the  broad-shoul 
dered  Lydia,  Eosine,  Doroty,  and  all  the  rest,  in  their 
Sunday  clothes,  flushed,  laughing,  and  chattering; 
but  no  Wilhelmina. 


WILHELM1NA.  291 

/  "Where  can  she  be?"  I  said. 

If  she  was  there,  the  larger  girls  concealed  her 
with  their  buxom  breadth  ;  I  looked  for  the  slender 
little  maiden  in  vain. 

"  Shu  1 "  cried  the  girls,  "  de  bugle  ! " 

Far  down  the  station  road  we  heard  the  bugle  and 
saw  the  glimmering  of  lights  among  the  trees.  On 
it  came,  a  will-o'-the-wisp  procession :  first  a  detach 
ment  of  village  boys  each  with  a  lantern  or  torch, 
next  the  returned  soldiers  winding  their  bugles,  —  for, 
German-like,  they  all  had  musical  instruments, — then 
an  excited  crowd  of  brothers  and  cousins  loaded 
with  knapsacks,  guns,  and  military  accoutrements  of 
all  kinds ;  each  man  had  something,  were  it  only  a 
tin  cup,  and  proudly  they  marched  in  the  footsteps 
of  their  glorious  relatives,  bearing  the  spoils  of  war. 
The  girls  set  up  a  shrill  cry  of  welcome  as  the  pro 
cession  approached,  but  the  ranks  continued  unbroken 
until  the  open  space  in  front  of  the  Wirthshaus  was 
reached ;  then,  at  a  signal,  the  soldiers  gave  three 
cheers,  the  villagers  joining  in  with  all  their  hearts 
and  lungs,  but  wildly  and  out  of  time,  like  the  scat 
tering  fire  of  an  awkward  squad.  The  sound  had 
never  been  heard  in  Zoar  before.  The  soldiers  gave 
a  final  "  Tiger-r-r ! "  and  then  broke  ranks,  mingling 
with  the  excited  crowd,  exchanging  greetings  and 
embraces.  All  talked  at  once ;  some  wept,  some 
laughed ;  and  through  it  all  silently  stood  the  three 


292  WILHELMINA. 

trustees  on  the  dark  porch  in  front  of  the  store, 
looking  down  upon  their  wild  flock,  their  sober  faces 
visible  in  the  glare  of  the  torches  and  lanterns  be 
low.  The  entire  population  was  present ;  even  the 
babies  were  held  up  on  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd, 
stolid  and  staring. 

"  Where  can  Wilhelmina  be  ? "  I  said  again. 

"  Here,  under  the  window ;  I  saw  her  long  ago," 
replied  one  of  the  women. 

Leaning  against  a  piazza-pillar,  close  under  my 
eyes,  stood  the  little  maiden,  pale  and  still.  I  could 
not  disguise  from  myself  that  she  looked  almost  ugly 
among  those  florid,  laughing  girls,  for  her  color  was 
gone,  and  her  eyes  so  fixed  that  they  looked  unnat 
urally  large;  her  somewhat  heavy  Egyptian  features 
stood  out  in  the  bright  light,  but  her  small  form 
was  lost  among  the  group  of  broad,  white-kerchiefed 
shoulders,  adorned  with  breast-knots  of  gay  flowers. 
And  had  Wilhelmina  no  flower?  She,  so  fond  of 
blossoms  ?  I  looked  again ;  yes,  a  little  white  rose, 
drooping  and  pale  as  herself. 

But  where  was  Gustav  ?  The  soldiers  came  and 
went  in  the  crowd,  and  all  spoke  to  Mina ;  but 
where  was  the  One  ?  I  caught  the  landlord's  little 
son  as  he  passed,  and  asked  the  question. 

"  Gustav.?  Dat  's  him,"  he  answered,  pointing  out 
a  tall,  rollicking  soldier  who  seemed  to  be  embracing 
the  whole  population  in  his  gleeful  welcome.  That 


WILHELMINA.  293 

very  soldier  had  passed  Mina  a  dozen  times,  fling 
ing  a  gay  greeting  to  her  each  time ;  but  nothing 
more. 

After  half  an  hour  of  general  rejoicing,  the  crowd 
dispersed,  each  household  bearing  off  in  triumph  the 
hero  that  fell  to  its  lot.  Then  the  tiled  domiciles, 
where  usually  all  were  asleep  an  hour  after  twilight, 
blazed  forth  with  unaccustomed  light  from  every  little 
window ;  and  within  we  could  see  the  circles,  with 
flagons  of  beer  and  various  dainties  manufactured  in 
secret  during  the  day,  sitting  and  talking  together  in 
a  manner  which,  for  Zoar,  was  a  wild  revel,  since  it 
was  nearly  eleven  o'clock!  We  were  not  the  only 
outside  spectators  of  this  unwonted  gayety;  several 
times  we  met  the  three  trustees  stealing  along  in 
the  shadow  from  house  to  house,  like  anxious  spec 
tres  in  broad-brimmed  hats.  No  doubt  they  said  to 
each  other,  "  How,  how  will  this  end  ! " 

The  merry  Gustav  had  gone  off  by  Mina's  side, 
which  gave  me  some  comfort ;  but  when  in  our 
rounds  we  came  to  the  gardener's  house  and  gazed 
through  the  open  door,  the  little  maiden  sat  apart, 
and  the  soldier,  in  the  centre  of  an  admiring  circle, 
was  telling  stories  of  the  war. 

I  felt  a  foreboding  of  sorrow  as  I  gazed  out 
through  the  little  window  before  climbing  up  into 
my  high  bed.  Lights  still  twinkled  in  some  of  the 
houses,  but  a  white  mist  was  rising  from  the  river, 


294  WILHELMINA. 

and  the  drowsy,  long-drawn  chant  of  the  summer 
night  invited  me  to  dreamless  sleep. 

The  next  morning  I  could  not  resist  questioning 
Jacobina,  who  also  had  her  lover  among  the  soldiers, 
if  all  was  well. 

"  0  yes.  They  stay,  —  all  but  two.  We  's  mar 
ried  next  mont." 

"And  the  two?" 

"Karl  and  Gustav." 

"And  Wilhelmina!"  I  exclaimed. 

"0,  she  let  him  go,"  answered  Jacobina,  bringing 
fresh  coffee. 

"  Poor  child !    How  does  she  bear  it  ? " 

"O,  so.     She  cannot  help.     She  say  noding." 

"  But  the  trustees,  will  they  allow  these  young  men 
to  leave  the  Community  ? " 

"  They  cannot  help,"  said  Jacobina,  "  Gustav  and 
Karl  write  not  in  the  book;  they  free  to  go.  Wil 
helmina  marry  Jacob ;  it 's  joost  the  same ;  all 
r-r-ight,"  added  Jacobina,  who  prided  herself  upon 
her  English,  caught  from  visitors  at  the  Wirthshaus 
table. 

"  Ah !  but  it  is  not  just  the  same,"  I  thought  as  I 
went  up  to  the  garden  to  find  my  little  maiden.  She 
Was  not  there ;  the  leathery  mother  said  she  was 
out  on  the  hills  with  the  cows. 

"  So  Gustav  is  going  to  leave  the  Community,"  I 
said  in  German. 


WILHELMINA.  295 

"Yes,  better  so.  He  is  an  idle,  wild  boy.  Now, 
Veelhelmeeny  can  marry  the  baker,  a  good  steady 
mail." 

"But  Mina  does  not  like  him,"  I  suggested. 

"  Das  macht  nichts,"  answered  the  leathery  mother. 

Wilhelmina  was  not  in  the  pasture;  I  sought  for 
her  everywhere,  and  called  her  name.  The  poor  child 
had  hidden  herself,  and  whether  she  heard  me  or  not, 
she  did  not  respond.  All  day  she  kept  herself  aloof ; 
I  almost  feared  she  would  never  return ;  but  in  the 
late  twilight  a  little  figure  slipped  through  the  gar 
den-gate  and  took  refuge  in  the  house  before  I  could 
speak;  for  I  was  watching  for  the  child,  apparently 
the  only  one,  though  a  stranger,  to  care  for  her  sor 
row. 

"  Can  I  not  see  her  ? "  I  said  to  the  leathery 
mother,  following  to  the  door. 

"  Eh,  no ;  she 's  foolish ;  she  will  not  speak  a 
word;  she  has  gone  off  to  bed,"  was  the  answer. 

For  three  days  I  did  not  see  Mina,  so  early  did 
she  flee  away  to  the  hills  and  so  late  return.  I  fol 
lowed  her  to  the  pasture  once  or  twice,  but  she 
would  not  show  herself,  and  I  could  not  discover 
her  hiding-place.  The  fourth  day  I  learned  that 
Gustav  and  Karl  were  to  leave  the  village  in  the 
afternoon,  probably  forever.  The  other  soldiers  had 
signed  the  articles  presented  by  the  anxious  trustees, 
and  settled  down  into  the  old  routine,  going  afield 


296  WILHELMINA. 

with  the  rest,  although  still  heroes  of  the  hour ;  they 
were  all  to  be  married  in  August.  No  doubt  the 
hardships  of  their  campaigns  among  the  Tennessee 
mountains  had  taught  them  that  the  rich  valley  was 
a  home  not  to  be  despised;  nevertheless,  it  was  evi 
dent  that  the  flowers  of  the  flock  were  those  who 
were  about  departing,  and  that  in  Gustav  and  Karl 
the  Community  lost  its  brightest  spirits.  Evident  to 
us  ;  but,  possibly,  the  Community  cared  not  for  bright 
spirits. 

I  had  made  several  attempts  to  speak  to  Gustav; 
this  morning  I  at  last  succeeded.  I  found  him  pol 
ishing  his  bugle  on  the  garden  bench. 

"Why  are  you  going  away,  Gustav?"  I  asked. 
"Zoar  is  a  pleasant  little  village." 

"Too  slow  for  me,  miss." 

"The  life  is  easy,  however;  you  will  find  the 
world  a  hard  place." 

"I  don't  mind  work,  ma'am,  but  I  do  like  to  be 
free.  I  feel  all  cramped  up  here,  with  these  rules 
and  bells;  and,  besides,  I  couldn't  stand  those  trus 
tees  ;  they  never  let  a  fellow  alone." 

"And  Wilhelmina?  If  you  do  go,  I  hope  you 
will  take  her  with  you,  or  come  for  her  when  you 
have  found  work." 

"  0  no,  miss.  All  that  was  long  ago.  It 's  all 
over  now." 

"But  you  like  her,  Gustav?" 


WILHELMINA.  297 

"  0,  so.  She  's  a  good  little  thing,  but  too  quiet 
for  me." 

"But  she  likes  you,"  I  said  desperately,  for  I  saw 
no  other  way  to  loosen  this  Gordian  knot. 

"  0  no,  miss.  She  got  used  to  it,  and  has  thought 
of  it  all  these  years  ;  that 's  all.  She  '11  forget  about 
it,  and  marry  the  baker." 

"  But  she  does  not  like  the  baker." 

"  Why  not  ?  He  's  a  good  fellow  enough.  She  '11 
like  him  in  time.  It  's  all  the  same.  I  declare  it 's 
too  bad  to  see  all  these  girls  going  on  in  the  same 
old  way,  in  their  ugly  gowns  and  big  shoes  !  Why, 
ma'am,  I  could  n't  take  Mina  outside,  even  if  I 
wanted  to ;  she  's  too  old  to  learn  new  ways,  and 
everybody  would  laugh  at  her.  She  could  n't  get 
along  a  day.  Besides,"  said  the  young  soldier,  color 
ing  up  to  his  eyes,  "I  don't  mind  telling  you  that 
—  that  there  's  some  one  else.  Look  here,  ma'am." 
And  he  put  into  my  hand  a  card  photograph  repre 
senting  a  pretty  girl,  over-dressed,  and  adorned  witli 
curls  and  gilt  jewelry.  "  That 's  Miss  Martin,"  said 
Gustav  with  pride  ;  "  Miss  Emmeline  Martin,  of  Cin 
cinnati.  I  'm  going  to  marry  Miss  Martin." 

As  I  held  the  pretty,  flashy  picture  in  my  hand,  all 
my  castles  fell  to  the  ground.  My  plan  for  taking 
Mina  home  with  me,  accustoming  her  gradually  to 
other  clothes  and  ways,  teaching  her  enough  of  the 
world  to  enable  her  to  hold  her  place  without  pain, 


298  WILHELMINA. 

my  hope  that  my  husband  might  find  a  situation  for 
Gustav  in  some  of  the  iron-mills  near  Cleveland,  in 
short,  all  the  idyl  I  had  woven,  was  destroyed.  If  it 
had  not  been  for  this  red-cheeked  Miss  Martin  in  her 
gilt  beads  !  "  Why  is  it  that  men  will  be  such  fools  ? " 
I  thought.  Up  sprung  a  memory  of  the  curls  and 
ponderous  jet  necklace  I  sported  at  a  certain  period 
of  my  existence,  when  John  —  I  was  silenced,  gave 
Gustav  his  picture,  and  walked  away  without  a 
word. 

At  noon  the  villagers,  on  their  way  back  to  work, 
paused  at  the  Wirthshaus  to  say  good  by;  Karl  and 
Gustav  were  there,  and  the  old  woolly  horse  had 
already  gone  to  the  station  with  their  boxes.  Among 
the  others  came  Christine,  Karl's  former  affianced,  heart- 
whole  and  smiling,  already  betrothed  to  a  new  lover ; 
but  no  Wilhelmina.  Good  wishes  and  farewells  were 
exchanged,  and  at  last  the  two  soldiers  started  away, 
falling  into  the  marching  step,  and  watched  with  fur 
tive  satisfaction  by  the  three  trustees,  who  stood  to 
gether  in  the  shadow  of  the  smithy,  apparently  deeply 
absorbed  in  a  broken-down  cask. 

It  was  a  lovely  afternoon,  and  I,  too,  strolled  down 
the  station  road  embowered  in  shade.  The  two  sol 
diers  were  not  far  in  advance.  I  had  passed  the  flour- 
mill  on  the  outskirts  of  the  village  and  was  approach 
ing  the  old  quarry,  when  a  sound  startled  me ;  out 
from  the  rocks  in  front  rushed  a  little  figure,  and  cry- 


WILHELMINA.  299 

ing,  "  Gustav,  mem  Gustav ! "  fell  at  the  soldier's  feet. 
It  was  Wilhelmina. 

I  ran  forward  and  took  her  from  the  young  men; 
she  lay  in  my  arms  as  if  dead.  The  poor  child  was 
sadly  changed;  always  slender  and  swaying,  she  now 
looked  thin  and  shrunken,  her  skin  had  a  strange,  dark 
pallor,  and  her  lips  were  drawn  in  as  if  from  pain.  I 
could  see  her  eyes  through  the  large-orbed  thin  lids, 
and  the  brown  shadows  beneath  extended  down  into 
the  cheeks. 

"  Was  ist's  ? "  said  Gustav,  looking  bewildered.  "  Is 
she  sick  ? " 

I  answered  "Yes,"  but  nothing  more.  I  could  see 
that  he  had  no  suspicion  of  the  truth,  believing  as  he 
did  that  the  "  good  fellow  "  of  a  baker  would  do  very 
well  for  this  "  good  little  thing  "  who  was  "  too  quiet " 
for  him.  The  memory  of  Miss  Martin  sealed  my  lips. 
But  if  it  had  not  been  for  that  pretty,  flashy  picture, 
would  I  not  have  spoken ! 

"  You  must  go ;  you  will  miss  the  train,"  I  said,  after 
a  few  minutes.  "  I  will  see  to  Mina." 

But  Gustav  lingered.  Perhaps  he  was  really  troub 
led  to  see  the  little  sweetheart  of  his  boyhood  in  such 
desolate  plight;  perhaps  a  touch  of  the  old  feeling 
came  back;  and  perhaps,  also,  it  was  nothing  of  the 
kind,  and,  as  usual,  my  romantic  imagination  was 
carrying  me  away.  At  any  rate,  whatever  it  was,  he 
stooped  over  the  fainting  girl. 


300  WILHELMINA. 

"  She  looks  bad,"  he  said,  "  very  bad.  I  wish —  But 
she  '11  get  well  and  marry  the  baker.  Good  by,  Mina." 
And  bending  his  tall  form,  he  kissed  her  colorless 
cheek,  and  then  hastened  away  to  join  the  impatient 
Karl ;  a  curve  in  the  road  soon  hid  them  from  view. 

Wilhelmina  had  stirred  at  his  touch ;  after  a  moment 
her  large  eyes  opened  slowly;  she  looked  around  as 
if  dazed,  but  all  at  once  memory  came  back,  and  she 
started  up  with  the  same  cry,  "  Gustav,  mein  Gustav ! " 
I  drew  her  head  down  on  my  shoulder  to  stifle  the 
sound;  it  was  better  the  soldier  should  not  hear  it, 
and  its  anguish  thrilled  my  own  heart  also.  She  had 
not  the  strength  to  resist  rne,  and  in  a  few  minutes  I 
knew  that  the  young  men  were  out  of  hearing  as  they 
strode  on  towards  the  station  and  out  into  the  wide 
world. 

The  forest  was  solitary,  we  were  beyond  the  village ; 
all  the  afternoon  I  sat  under  the  trees  with  the 
stricken  girl.  Again,  as  in  her  joy,  her  words  were 
few ;  again,  as  in  her  joy,  her  whole  being  was  in 
volved.  Her  little  rough  hands  were  cold,  a  film  had 
gathered  over  her  eyes ;  she  did  not  weep,  but  moaned 
to  herself,  and  all  her  senses  seemed  blunted.  At 
nightfall  I  took  her  home,  and  the  leathery  mother 
received  her  with  a  frown  ;  but  the  child  was  beyond 
caring,  and  crept  away,  dumbly,  to  her  room. 

The  next  morning  she  was  off  to  the  hills  again, 
nor  could  I  find  her  for  several  days.  Evidently,  in 


WILHELMINA.  301 

spite  of  my  sympathy,  I  was  no  more  to  her  than 
I  should  have  been  to  a  wounded  fawn.  She  was 
a  mixture  of  the  wild,  shy  creature  of  the  woods 
and  the  deep-loving  woman  of  the  tropics ;  in  either 
case  I  could  be  but  small  comfort.  When  at  last  I 
did  see  her,  she  was  apathetic  and  dull ;  her  feelings, 
her  senses,  and  her  intelligence  seemed  to  have  gone 
within,  as  if  preying  upon  her  heart.  She  scarcely 
listened  to  my  proposal  to  take  her  with  me;  for,  in 
my  pity,  I  had  suggested  it,  in  spite  of  its  difficul 
ties. 

"  No,"  she  said,  mechanically,  "  I 's  better  here  " ; 
and  fell  into  silence  again. 

A  month  later  a  friend  went  down  to  spend  a 
few  days  in  the  valley,  and  upon  her  return  described 
to  us  the  weddings  of  the  whilom  soldiers.  "It  was 
really  a  pretty  sight,"  she  said,  "the  quaint  peasant 
dresses  and  the  flowers.  Afterwards,  the  band  went 
round  the  village  playing  their  odd  tunes,  and  all 
had  a  holiday.  There  were  two  civilians  married 
also;  I  mean  two  young  men  who  had  not  been  to 
the  war.  It  seems  that  two  of  the  soldiers  turned 
their  backs  upon  the  Community  and  their  allotted 
brides,  and  marched  away;  but  the  Zoar  maidens  are 
not  romantic,  I  fancy,  for  these  two  deserted  ones 
were  betrothed  again  and  married,  all  in  the  short 
space  of  four  weeks." 


302  WILHELMINA. 

"  Was  not  one  Wilhelmina,  the  gardener's  daughter, 
a  short,  dark  girl  ? "  I  asked. 
"Yes." 

"  And  she  married  Jacob  the  baker  ? " 
"Yes." 

The  next  year,  weary  of  the  cold  lake-winds,  we  left 
the  icy  shore  and  went  down  to  the  valley  to  meet  the 
coming  spring,  finding  her  already  there,  decked  with 
vines  and  flowers.  A  new  waitress  brought  us  our 
coffee. 

"  How  is  Wilhelmina  ? "  I  asked. 

"  Eh,  —  Wilhelmina  ?  O,  she  not  here  now  ;  she 
gone  to  the  Next  Country,"  answered  the  girl  in  a 
matter-of-fact  way.  "  She  die  last  October,  and  Jacob 
he  haf  anoder  wife  now." 

In  the  late  afternoon  I  asked  a  little  girl  to  show  me 
Wilhelmina's  grave  in  the  quiet  God's  Acre  on  the  hill. 
Innovation  was  creeping  in,  even  here ;  the  later  graves 
had  mounds  raised  over  them,  and  one  had  a  little  head 
board  with  an  inscription  in  ink. 

Wilhelmina  lay  apart,  and  some  one,  probably  the 
old  gardener,  who  had  loved  the  little  maiden  in  his 
silent  way,  had  planted  a  rose-bush  at  the  head  of  the 
mound.  I  dismissed  my  guide  and  sat  there  alone  in 
the  sunset,  thinking  of  many  things,  but  chiefly  of  this  : 
"Why  should  this  great  wealth  of  love  have  been 
allowed  to  waste  itself  ?  Why  is  it  that  the  greatest 


W1LHELMINA.  303 

power,  unquestionably,  of  this  mortal  life  should  so 
often  seem  a  useless  gift  ? " 

No  answer  came  from  the  sunset  clouds,  and  as  twi 
light  sank  down  on  the  earth  I  rose  to  go.  "  I  fully 
believe,"  I  said,  as  though  repeating  a  creed,  "  that  this 
poor,  loving  heart,  whose  earthly  body  lies  under  this 
mound,  is  happy  now  in  its  own  loving  way.  It  has 
not  been  changed,  but  the  happiness  it  longed  for  has 
come.  How,  we  know  not;  but  the  God  who  made 
Wilhelmina  understands  her.  He  has  given  unto  her 
not  rest,  not  peace,  but  an  active,  living  joy." 

I  walked  away  through  the  wild  meadow,  under 
whose  turf,  unmarked  by  stone  or  mound,  lay  the  first 
pioneers  of  the  Community,  and  out  into  the  forest  road, 
untravelled  save  when  the  dead  passed  over  it  to  their 
last  earthly  home.  The  evening  was  still  and  breath 
less,  and  the  shadows  lay  thick  on  the  grass  as  I  looked 
back.  But  I  could  still  distinguish  the  little  mound 
with  the  rose-bush  at  its  head,  and,  not  without  tears, 
I  said,  "  Farewell,  poor  Wilhelmina ;  farewell." 


ST.   CLAIR  FLATS. 


September,  1855, 1  first  saw  the  St.  Glair  Flats. 
Owing  to  Kaymond's  determination,  we  stopped 
there. 

"Why  go  on?"  he  asked.  "Why  cross  another 
long,  rough  lake,  when  here  is  all  we  want?" 

"But  no  one  ever  stops  here,"  I  said. 

"  So  much  the  better ;  we  shall  have  it  all  to  our 
selves." 

"  But  we  must  at  least  have  a  roof  over  our  heads." 

"I  presume  we  can  find  one." 

The  captain  of  the  steamer,  however,  knew  of  no 
roof  save  that  covering  a  little  lighthouse  set  on 
spiles,  which  the  boat  would  pass  within  the  half- 
hour;  we  decided  to  get  off  there,  and  throw  our 
selves  upon  the  charity  of  the  lighthouse-man.  In 
the  mean  time,  we  sat  on  the  bow  with  Captain 
Kidd,  our  four-legged  companion,  who  had  often 
accompanied  ws  on  hunting  expeditions,  but  never 
before  so  far  westward.  It  had  been  rough  on 
Lake  Erie,  —  very  rough.  We,  who  had  sailed  the 


ST.   GLAIR  FLATS.  305 

ocean  with  composure,  found  ourselves  most  inhu 
manly  tossed  on  the  short,  chopping  waves  of  this 
fresh- water  sea;  we,  who  alone  of  all  the  cabin-list 
had  eaten  our  four  courses  and  dessert  every  day  on 
the  ocean-steamer,  found  ourselves  here  reduced  to 
the  depressing  diet  of  a  herring  and  pilot-bread. 
Captain  Kidd,  too,  had  suffered  dumbly;  even  now 
he  could  not  find  comfort,  but  tried  every  plank  in 
the  deck,  one  after  the  other,  circling  round  and 
round  after  his  tail,  dog-fashion,  before  lying  down, 
and  no  sooner  down  than  up  again  for  another  mel 
ancholy  wandering  about  the  deck,  another  choice  of 
planks,  another  circling,  and  another  failure.  We 
were  sailing  across  a  small  lake  whose  smooth  waters 
were  like  clear  green  oil ;  as  we  drew  near  the  out 
let,  the  low,  green  shores  curved  inward  and  came  to 
gether,  and  the  steamer  entered  a  narrow,  green  river. 

"  Here  we  are,"  said  Kaymond.  "  Now  we  can  soon 
land." 

"  But  there  is  n't  any  land,"  I  answered. 

"  What  is  that,  then  ? "  asked  my  near-sighted  com 
panion,  pointing  toward  what  seemed  a  shore. 

"  Keeds." 

"  And  what  do  they  run  back  to  ? " 

"Nothing." 

"  But  there  must  be  solid  ground  beyond  ? " 

"  Nothing  but  reeds,  flags,  lily-pads,  grass,  and  water, 

as  far  as  I  can  see." 
20 


306  ST.  CLAIR  FLATS. 

"  A  marsh  ? " 

"  Yes,  a  marsh." 

The  word  "marsh"  does  not  bring  up  a  beautiful  pic 
ture  to  the  mind,  and  yet  the  reality  was  as  beautiful 
as  anything  I  have  ever  seen,  —  an  enchanted  land, 
whose  memory  haunts  me  as  an  idea  unwritten,  a 
melody  unsung,  a  picture  unpainted,  haunts  the  artist, 
and  will  not  away.  On  each  side  and  in  front,  as  far 
as  the  eye  could  reach,  stretched  the  low  green  land 
which  was  yet  no  land,  intersected  by  hundreds  of 
channels,  narrow  and  broad,  whose  waters  were  green 
as  their  shores.  In  and  out,  now  running  into  each 
other  for  a  moment,  now  setting  off  each  for  himself 
again,  these  many  channels  flowed  along  with  a  rip 
pling  current ;  zigzag  as  they  were,  they  never  seemed 
to  loiter,  but,  as  if  knowing  just  where  they  were 
going  and  what  they  had  to  do,  they  found  time  to 
take  their  own  pleasant  roundabout  way,  visiting  the 
secluded  households  of  their  friends  the  flags,  who, 
poor  souls,  must  always  stay  at  home.  These  currents 
were  as  clear  as  crystal,  and  green  as  the  water-grasses 
that  fringed  their  miniature  shores.  The  bristling 
reeds,  like  companies  of  free-lances,  rode  boldly  out 
here  and  there  into  the  deeps,  trying  to  conquer  more 
territory  for  the  grasses,  but  the  currents  were  hard  to 
conquer;  they  dismounted  the  free-lances,  and  flowed 
over  their  submerged  heads;  they  beat  them  down 
with  assaulting  ripples ;  they  broke  their  backs  so  effec- 


ST.   CLAIR  FLATS.  307 

tually  that  the  bravest  had  no  spirit  left,  but  trailed 
along,  limp  and  bedraggled.  And,  if  by  chance  the 
lances  succeeded  in  stretching  their  forces  across  from 
one  little  shore  to  another,  then  the  unconquered  cur 
rents  forced  their  way  between  the  closely  serried 
ranks  of  the  enemy,  and  flowed  on  as  gayly  as  ever, 
leaving  the  grasses  sitting  hopeless  on  the  bank;  for 
they  needed  solid  ground  for  their  delicate  feet,  these 
graceful  ladies  in  green. 

You  might  call  it  a  marsh ;  but  there  was  no  mud, 
no  dark  slimy  water,  no  stagnant  scum;  there  were 
no  rank  yellow  lilies,  no  gormandizing  frogs,  no  swin 
ish  mud-turtles.  The  clear  waters  of  the  channels  ran 
over  golden  sands,  and  hurtled  among  the  stiff  reeds 
so  swiftly  that  only  in  a  bay,  or  where  protected  by  a 
crescent  point,  could  the  fair  white  lilies  float  in  the 
quiet  their  serene  beauty  requires.  The  flags,  who 
brandished  their  swords  proudly,  were  martinets  down 
to  their  very  heels,  keeping  themselves  as  clean  under 
the  water  as  above,  and  harboring  not  a  speck  of  mud 
on  their  bright  green  uniforms.  For  inhabitants,  there 
were  small  fish  roving  about  here  and  there  in  the 
clear  tide,  keeping  an  eye  out  for  the  herons,  who, 
watery  as  to  legs,  but  venerable  and  wise  of  aspect, 
stood  on  promontories  musing,  apparently,  on  the  se 
crets  of  the  ages. 

The  steamer's  route  was  a  constant  curve ;  through 
the  larger  channels  of  the  archipelago  she  wound,  as 


308  ST.   CLAIR  FLATS. 

if  following  the  clew  of  a  labyrinth.  By  turns  she 
headed  toward  all  the  points  of  the  compass,  finding 
a  channel  where,  to  our  uninitiated  eyes,  there  was  no 
channel,  doubling  upon  her  own  track,  going  broadside 
foremost,  floundering  and  backing,  like  a  whale  caught 
in  a  shallow.  Here,  landlocked,  she  would  choose 
what  seemed  the  narrowest  channel  of  all,  and  dash 
recklessly  through,  with  the  reeds  almost  brushing  her 
sides ;  there  she  crept  gingerly  along  a  broad  expanse 
of  water,  her  paddle-wheels  scarcely  revolving,  in  the 
excess  of  her  caution.  Saplings,  with  their  heads  of 
foliage  on,  and  branches  adorned  with  fluttering  rags, 
served  as  finger-posts  to  show  the  way  through  the 
watery  defiles,  and  there  were  many  other  hieroglyph 
ics  legible  only  to  the  pilot.  "  This  time,  surely,  we 
shall  run  ashore,"  we  thought  again  and  again,  as  the 
steamer  glided,  head-on,  toward  an  islet;  but  at  the 
last  there  was  always  a  quick  turn  into  some  unseen 
strait  opening  like  a  secret  passage  in  a  castle-wall, 
and  we  found  ourselves  in  a  new  lakelet,  heading  in 
the  opposite  direction.  Once  we  met  another  steamer, 
and  the  two  great  hulls  floated  slowly  past  each  other, 
with  engines  motionless,  so  near  that  the  passengers 
could  have  shaken  hands  with  each  other  had  they 
been  so  disposed.  Not  that  they  were  so  disposed, 
however ;  far  from  it.  They  gathered  on  their  respec 
tive  decks  and  gazed  at  each  other  gravely;  not  a 
smile  was  seen,  not  a  word  spoken,  not  the  shadow  of 


ST.    CLAIR  FLATS.  309 

a  salutation  given.  It  was  not  pride,  it  was  not  sus 
picion  ;  it  was  the  universal  listlessness  of  the  travel 
ling  American  bereft  of  his  business,  Othello  with  his 
occupation  gone.  What  can  such  a  man  do  on  a 
steamer?  Generally,  nothing.  Certainly  he  would 
never  think  of  any  such  light-hearted  nonsense  as  a 
smile  or  passing  bow. 

But  the  ships  were,  par  excellence,  the  bewitched 
craft,  the  Flying  Dutchmen  of  the  Flats.  A  brig,  with 
lofty,  sky-scraping  sails,  bound  south,  came  into  view 
of  our  steamer,  bound  north,  and  passed,  we  hugging 
the  shore  to  give  her  room ;  five  minutes  afterward  the 
sky-scraping  sails  we  had  left  behind  veered  around  in 
front  of  us  again ;  another  five  minutes,  and  there  they 
were  far  distant  on  the  right ;  another,  and  there  they 
were  again  close  by  us  on  the  left.  For  half  an  hour 
those  sails  circled  around  us,  and  yet  all  the  time  we 
were  pushing  steadily  forward;  this  seemed  witching 
work  indeed.  Again,  the  numerous  schooners  thought 
nothing  of  sailing  overland ;  we  saw  them  on  all  sides 
gliding  before  the  wind,  or  beating  up  against  it  over 
the  meadows  as  easily  as  over  the  water;  sailing  on 
grass  was  a  mere  trifle  to  these  spirit-barks.  All  this 
we  saw,  as  I  said  before,  apparently.  But  in  that 
adverb  is  hidden  the  magic  of  the  St.  Glair  Flats. 

"  It  is  beautiful,  —  beautiful,"  I  said,  looking  off 
over  the  vivid  green  expanse. 

"  Beautiful  ? "   echoed  the   captain,   who   had   him- 


310  ST.   CLAIR  FLATS. 

self  taken  charge  of  the  steering  when  the  steamer 
entered  the  labyrinth,  —  "I  don't  see  anything  beau 
tiful  in  it !  —  Port  your  helm  up  there ;  port ! " 

"  Port  it  is,  sir,"  came  back  from  the  pilot-house 
above. 

"These  Mats  give  us  more  trouble  than  any  other 
spot  on  the  lakes;  vessels  are  all  the  time  getting 
aground  and  blocking  up  the  way,  which  is  narrow 
enough  at  best.  There  's  some  talk  of  Uncle  Sam's 
cutting  a  canal  right  through,  —  a  straight  canal ;  but 
he  's  so  slow,  Uncle  Sam  is,  and  I  'm  afraid  I  11  be 
off  the  waters  before  the  job  is  done." 

"A  straight  canal!"  I  repeated,  thinking  with 
dismay  of  an  ugly  utilitarian  ditch  invading  this 
beautiful  winding  waste  of  green. 

"Yes,  you  can  see  for  yourself  what  a  saving  it 
would  be,"  replied  the  captain.  "  We  could  run  right 
through  in  no  time,  day  or  night;  whereas,  now,  we 
have  to  turn  and  twist  and  watch  every  inch  of  the 
whole  everlasting  marsh."  Such  was  the  captain's 
opinion.  But  we,  albeit  neither  romantic  nor  artistic, 
were  captivated  with  his  "everlasting  marsh/'  and 
eager  to  penetrate  far  within  its  green  fastnesses. 

"I  suppose  there  are  other  families  living  about 
here,  besides  the  family  at  the  lighthouse  ? "  I  said. 

"  Never  heard  of  any.  They  'd  have  to  live  on  a 
raft  if  they  did." 

"But  there  must  be  some  solid  ground." 


ST.   CLA1R  FLATS.  311 

"  Don't  believe  it ;  it 's  nothing  but  one  great  sponge 
for  miles.  —  Steady  up  there;  steady!" 

"Very  well,"  said  Baymond,  "so  be  it.  If  there 
is  only  the  lighthouse,  at  the  lighthouse  we  11  get 
off,  and  take  our  chances." 

"  You  're  surveyors,  I  suppose  ? "  said  the  captain. 

Surveyors  are  the  pioneers  of  the  lake-country, 
understood  by  the  people  to  be  a  set  of  harmless 
monomaniacs,  given  to  building  little  observatories 
along-shore,  where  there  is  nothing  to  observe;  mild 
madmen,  whose  vagaries  and  instruments  are  equally 
singular.  As  surveyors,  therefore,  the  captain  saw 
nothing  surprising  in  our  determination  to  get  off  at 
the  lighthouse;  if  we  had  proposed  going  ashore  on 
a  plank  in  the  middle  of  Lake  Huron,  he  would 
have  made  no  objection. 

At  length  the  lighthouse  came  into  view,  a  little 
fortress  perched  on  spiles,  with  a  ladder  for  entrance ; 
as  usual  in  small  houses,  much  time  seemed  devoted 
to  washing,  for  a  large  crane,  swung  to  and  fro  by  a 
rope,  extended  out  over  the  water,  covered  with  flut 
tering  garments  hung  out  to  dry.  The  steamer  lay 
to,  our  row-boat  was  launched,  our  traps  handed  out, 
Captain  Kidd  took  his  place  in  the  bow,  and  we 
pushed  off  into  the  shallows ;  then  the  great  paddle- 
wheels  revolved  again,  and  the  steamer  sailed  away, 
leaving  us  astern,  rocking  on  her  waves,  and  watched 
listlessly  by  the  passengers  until  a  turn  hid  us  from 


312  ST.    CLAIR  FLATS. 

their  view.  In  the  mean  time  numerous  flaxen- 
haired  children  had  appeared  at  the  little  windows 
of  the  lighthouse,  —  too  many  of  them,  indeed,  for 
our  hopes  of  comfort. 

"Ten,"  said  Kaymond,  counting  heads. 

The  ten,  moved  by  curiosity  as  we  approached, 
hung  out  of  the  windows  so  far  that  they  held  on 
merely  by  their  ankles. 

"We  cannot  possibly  save  them  all,"  I  remarked, 
looking  up  at  the  dangling  gazers. 

"0,  they  're  amphibious,"  said  Baymond;  "web- 
footed,  I  presume." 

We  rowed  up  under  the  fortress,  and  demanded 
parley  with  the  keeper  in  the  following  language :  — 

"  Is  your  father  here  ? " 

"No;  but  ma  is,"  answered  the  chorus.  —  "Ma! 
ma!" 

Ma  appeared,  a  portly  female,  who  held  converse 
with  us  from  the  top  of  the  ladder.  The  sum  and 
substance  of  the  dialogue  was  that  she  had  not  a 
corner  to  give  us,  and  recommended  us  to  find 
Liakim,  and  have  him  show  us  the  way  to  Waiting 
Samuel's. 

"Waiting  Samuel's?"  we  repeated. 

"  Yes ;  he  's  a  kind  of  crazy  man  living  away  over 
there  in  the  Flats.  But  there  's  no  harm  in  him, 
and  his  wife  is  a  tidy  housekeeper.  You  be  survey 
ors,  I  suppose  ? " 


ST.    CLAIR  FLATS.  313 

We  accepted  the  imputation  in  order  to  avoid  a 
broadside  of  questions,  and  asked  the  whereabouts 
of  Liakim. 

"  0,  he  's  round  the  point,  somewhere  there,  fish- 
ing!" 

We  rowed  on  and  found  him,  a  little,  round- 
shouldered  man,  in  an  old  flat-bottomed  boat,  who 
had  not  taken  a  fish,  and  looked  as  though  he  never 
would.  We  explained  our  errand. 

"  Did  Eosabel  Lee  tell  ye  to  come  to  me  ? "  he 
asked. 

"The  woman  in  the  lighthouse  told  us,"  I  said. 

"  That 's  Eosabel  Lee,  that 's  my  wife ;  I  'm  Liakim 
Lee,"  said  the  little  man,  gathering  together  his  for 
lorn  old  rods  and  tackle,  and  pulling  up  his  anchor. 

"  In  the  kingdom  down  by  the  sea 
Lived  the  beautiful  Annabel  Lee," 

I  quoted,  sotto  voce. 

"And  what  very  remarkable  feet  had  she!"  added 
Eaymond,  improvising  under  the  inspiration  of  cer 
tain  shoes,  scow-like  in  shape,  gigantic  in  length  and 
breadth,  which  had  made  themselves  visible  at  the 
top  round  of  the  ladder. 

At  length  the  shabby  old  boat  got  under  way,  and 
we  followed  in  its  path,  turning  off  to  the  right 
through  a  network  of  channels,  now  pulling  our 
selves  along  by  the  reeds,  now  paddling  over  a  raft 


314  ST.    GLAIR  FLATS. 

of  lily-pads,  now  poling  through  a  winding  labyrinth, 
and  now  rowing  with  broad  sweeps  across  the  little 
lake.  The  sun  was  sinking,  and  the  western  sky 
grew  bright  at  his  coming ;  there  was  not  a  cloud 
to  make  mountain-peaks  on  the  horizon,  nothing  but 
the  level  earth  below  meeting  the  curved  sky  above, 
so  evenly  and  clearly  that  it  seemed  as  though  we 
could  go  out  there  and  touch  it  with  our  hands. 
Soon  we  lost  sight  of  the  little  lighthouse;  then 
one  by  one  the  distant  sails  sank  down  and  disap 
peared,  and  we  were  left  alone  on  the  grassy  sea, 
rowing  toward  the  sunset. 

"We  must  have  come  a  mile  or  two,  and  there  is 
no  sign  of  a  house,"  I  called  out  to  our  guide. 

"  Well,  I  don't  pretend  to  know  how  far  it  is, 
exactly,"  replied  Liakim ;  "  we  don't  know  how  far 
anything  is  here  in  the  Flats,  we  don't." 

"  But  are  you  sure  you  know  the  way  ? " 

"  0  my,  yes !  We  've  got  most  to  the  boy.  There 
it  is!" 

The  "  boy  "  was  a  buoy,  a  fragment  of  plank  painted 
white,  part  of  the  cabin-work  of  some  wrecked  steamer. 

"Now,  then,"  said  Liakim,  pausing,  "you  jest  go 
straight  on  in  this  here  channel  till  you  come  to  the 
ninth  run  from  this  boy,  on  the  right ;  take  that,  and 
it  will  lead  you  right  up  to  Waiting  Samuel's  door." 

"  Are  n't  you  coming  with  us  ? " 

"  Well,  no.     In  the  first  place,  Eosabel  Lee  will  be 


ST.   GLAIR  FLATS.  315 

waiting  supper  for  me,  and  she  don't  like  to  wait ;  and, 
besides,  Samuel  can't  abide  to  see  none  of  us  round  his 
part  of  the  Flats." 

"But  —  "  I  began. 

"Let  him  go,"  interposed  Kaymond ;  "we  can  find 
the  house  without  trouble."  And  he  tossed  a  silver  dol 
lar  to  the  little  man,  who  was  already  turning  his  boat. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Liakim.  "  Be  sure  you  take  the 
ninth  run  and  no  other,  —  the  ninth  run  from  this  boy. 
If  you  make  any  mistake,  you  '11  find  yourselves  miles 
away." 

With  this  cheerful  statement,  he  began  to  row  back. 
I  did  not  altogether  fancy  being  left  on  the  watery 
waste  without  a  guide ;  the  name,  too,  of  our  mythic 
host  did  not  bring  up  a  certainty  of  supper  and  beds. 
"  Waiting  Samuel,"  I  repeated,  doubtfully.  "  What  is 
he  waiting  for  ? "  I  called  back  over  my  shoulder ; 
for  Kaymond  was  rowing. 

"  The  judgment-day  ! "  answered  Liakim,  in  a  shrill 
key.  The  boats  were  now  far  apart :  another  turn,  and 
we  were  alone. 

We  glided  on,  counting  the  runs  on  the  right :  some 
were  wide,  promising  rivers ;  others  wee  little  rivulets  ; 
the  eighth  was  far  away ;  and,  when  we  had  passed  it, 
we  could  hardly  decide  whether  we  had  reached  the 
ninth  or  not,  so  small  was  the  opening,  so  choked  with 
weeds,  showing  scarcely  a  gleam  of  water  beyond  when 
we  stood  up  to  inspect  it. 


316  ST.   CLAIR  FLATS. 

"  It  is  certainly  the  ninth,  and  I  vote  that  we  try  it. 
It  will  do  as  well  as  another,  and  I,  for  one,  am  in  no 
hurry  to  arrive  anywhere,"  said  Eaymond,  pushing  the 
boat  in  among  the  reeds. 

"  Do  you  want  to  lose  yourself  in  this  wilderness  ? " 
I  asked,  making  a  flag  of  my  handkerchief  to  mark  the 
spot  where  we  had  left  the  main  stream. 

"I  think  we  are  lost  already,"  was  the  calm  reply. 
I  began  to  fear  we  were. 

For  some  distance  the  "run,"  as  Liakim  called  it, 
continued  choked  with  aquatic  vegetation,  which  acted 
like  so  many  devil-fish  catching  our  oars ;  at  length  it 
widened  and  gradually  gave  us  a  clear  channel,  albeit 
so  winding  and  erratic  that  the  glow  of  the  sunset,  our 
only  beacon,  seemed  to  be  executing  a  waltz  all  round 
the  horizon.  At  length  we  saw  a  dark  spot  on  the  left, 
and  distinguished  the  outline  of  a  low  house.  "  There 
it  is,"  I  said,  plying  my  oars  with  renewed  strength. 
But  the  run  turned  short  off  in  the  opposite  direction, 
and  the  house  disappeared.  After  some  time  it  rose 
again,  this  time  on  our  right,  but  once  more  the  run 
turned  its  back  and  shot  off  on  a  tangent.  The  sun 
had  gone,  and  the  rapid  twilight  of  September  was  fall 
ing  around  us ;  the  air,  however,  was  singularly  clear, 
and,  as  there  was  absolutely  nothing  to  make  a  shadow, 
the  darkness  came  on  evenly  over  the  level  green.  I 
was  growing  anxious,  when  a  third  time  the  house  ap 
peared,  but  the  wilful  run  passed  by  it,  although  so  near 


ST.   CLAIR  FLATS.  317 

that  we  could  distinguish  its  open  windows  and  door. 
"  Why  not  get  out  and  wade  across  ? "  I  suggested. 

"  According  to  Liakim,  it  is  the  duty  of  this  run  to 
take  us  to  the  very  door  of  Waiting  Samuel's  mansion, 
and  it  shall  take  us,"  said  Kaymond,  rowing  on.  It  did. 

Doubling  upon  itself  in  the  most  unexpected  man 
ner,  it  brought  us  back  to  a  little  island,  where  the  tall 
grass  had  given  way  to  a  vegetable-garden.  We  landed, 
secured  our  boat,  and  walked  up  the  pathway  toward 
the  house.  In  the  dusk  it  seemed  to  be  a  low,  square 
structure,  built  of  planks  covered  with  plaster;  the 
roof  was  flat,  the  windows  unusually  broad,  the  door 
stood  open,  —  but  no  one  appeared.  We  knocked.  A 
voice  from  within  called  out,  "  Who  are  you,  and  what 
do  you  want  with  Waiting  Samuel  ? " 

"  Pilgrims,  asking  for  food  and  shelter,"  replied  Kay 
mond. 

"  Do  you  know  the  ways  of  righteousness  ? " 

"  We  can  learn  them." 

"Will  you  conform  to  the  rules  of  this  household 
without  murmuring?" 

"We  will." 

"  Enter  then,  and  peace  be  with  you ! "  said  the 
voice,  drawing  nearer.  We  stepped  cautiously  through 
the  dark  passage  into  a  room,  whose  open  windows  let 
in  sufficient  twilight  to  show  us  a  shadowy  figure. 
"  Seat  yourselves,"  it  said.  We  found  a  bench,  and  sat 
down. 


318  ST.    GLAIR  FLATS. 

"  What  seek  ye  here  ? "  continued  the  shadow. 

"  Eest ! "  replied  Eaymond. 

"  Hunting-  and  fishing  ! "  I  added. 

"  Ye  will  find  more  than  rest,"  said  the  voice,  ignor 
ing  me  altogether  (I  am  often  ignored  in  this  way), 
—  "  more  than  rest,  if  ye  stay  long  enough,  and  learn 
of  the  hidden  treasures.  Are  you  willing  to  seek  for 
them?" 

"  Certainly  ! "    said   Eaymond.      "  Where   shall   we 

dig  ? " 

"  I  speak  not  of  earthly  digging,  young  man.  Will 
you  give  me  the  charge  of  your  souls  ? " 

"  Certainly,  if  you  will  also  take  charge  of  our 
bodies." 

"  Supper,  for  instance,"  I  said,  again  coming  to  the 
front;  "and  beds." 

The  shadow  groaned ;  then  it  called  out  wearily, 
"  Eoxana ! " 

"Yes,  Samuel,"  replied  an  answering  voice,  and  a 
second  shadow  became  dimly  visible  on  the  thresh 
old.  "  The  woman  will  attend  to  your  earthly  con 
cerns,"  said  Waiting  Samuel.  —  "  Eoxana,  take  them 
hence."  The  second  shadow  came  forward,  and,  with 
out  a  word,  took  our  hands  and  led  us  along  the 
dark  passage  like  two  children,  warning  us  now  of 
a  step,  now  of  a  turn,  then  of  two  steps,  and  finally 
opening  a  door  and  ushering  us  into  a  fire-lighted 
room.  Peat  was  burning  upon  the  wide  hearth,  and 


ST.   CLAIR  FLATS.  319 

a  singing  kettle  hung  above  it  on  a  crane;  the  red 
glow  shone  on  a  rough  table,  chairs  cushioned  in 
bright  calico,  a  loud-ticking  clock,  a  few  gayly  flow 
ered  plates  and  cups  on  a  shelf,  shining  tins  against 
the  plastered  wall,  and  a  cat  dozing  on  a  bit  of  car 
pet  in  one  corner.  The  cheery  domestic  scene,  com 
ing  after  the  wide,  dusky  Flats,  the  silence,  the  dark 
ness,  and  the  mystical  words  of  the  shadowy  Samuel, 
seemed  so  real  and  pleasant  that  my  heart  grew 
light  within  me. 

"  What  a  bright  fire ! "  I  said.  "  This  is  your  do 
main,  I  suppose,  Mrs.  —  Mrs.  —  " 

"  I  am  not  Mrs. ;  I  am  called  Roxana,"  replied  the 
woman,  busying  herself  at  the  hearth. 

"Ah,  you  are  then  the  sister  of  Waiting  Samuel, 
I  presume  ? " 

"  No,  I  am  his  wife,  fast  enough ;  we  were  married 
by  the  minister  twenty  years  ago.  But  that  was  be 
fore  Samuel  had  seen  any  visions." 

"  Does  he  see  visions  ? " 

"Yes,  almost  every  day." 

"  Do  you  see  them,  also  ? " 

"  O  no ;  I  'm  not  like  Samuel.  He  has  great 
gifts,  Samuel  has  !  The  visions  told  us  to  come  here ; 
we  used  to  live  away  down  in  Maine." 

"  Indeed  !     That  was  a  long  journey !  " 

"  Yes  !  And  we  did  n't  come  straight  either.  We  'd 
get  to  one  place  and  stop,  and  I'd  think  we  were 


320  ST.   CLAIR  FLATS. 

going  to  stay,  and  just  get  things  comfortable,  when 
Samuel  would  see  another  vision,  and  we  'd  have 
to  start  on.  We  wandered  in  that  way  two  or  three 
years,  but  at  last  we  got  here,  and  something  in  the 
Flats  seemed  to  suit  the  spirits,  and  they  let  us 
stay." 

At  this  moment,  through  the  half-open  door,  came 
a  voice. 

"An  evil  beast  is  in  this  house.  Let  him  de 
part." 

"Do  you  mean  me?"  said  Eaymond,  who  had 
made  himself  comfortable  in  a  rocking-chair. 

"  Nay ;  I  refer  to  the  four-legged  beast,"  continued 
the  voice.  "  Come  forth,  Apollyon  ! " 

Poor  Captain  Kidd  seemed  to  feel  that  he  was  the 
person  in  question,  for  he  hastened  under  the  table 
with  drooping  tail  and  mortified  aspect. 

"Eoxana,  send  forth  the  beast,"  said  the  voice. 

The  woman  put  down  her  dishes  and  went  toward 
the  table ;  but  I  interposed. 

"  If  he  must  go,  I  will  take  him,"  I  said,  rising. 

"  Yes ;  he  must  go,"  replied  Eoxana,  holding  open 
the  door.  So  I  ordered  out  the  unwilling  Captain, 
and  led  him  into  the  passageway. 

"  Out  of  the  house,  out  of  the  house,"  said  Wait 
ing  Samuel.  'rHis  feet  may  not  rest  upon  this 
sacred  ground.  I  must  take  him  hence  in  the  boat." 

"  But  where  ? " 


ST.   CLAIR  FLATS.  321 

"Across  the  channel  there  is  an  islet  large  enough 
for  him ;  he  shall  have  food  and  shelter,  but  here  he 
cannot  abide,"  said  the  man,  leading  the  way  down 
to  the  boat. 

The  Captain  was  therefore  ferried  across,  a  tent 
was  made  for  him  out  of  some  old  mats,  food  was 
provided,  and,  lest  he  should  swim  back,  he  was 
tethered  by  a  long  rope,  which  allowed  him  to  prowl 
around  his  domain  and  take  his  choice  of  three  runs 
for  drinking-water.  With  all  these  advantages,  the 
ungrateful  animal  persisted  in  howling  dismally  as 
we  rowed  away.  It  was  company  he  wanted,  and 
not  a  "  dear  little  isle  of  his  own " ;  but  then,  he 
was  not  by  nature  poetical. 

"  You  do  not  like  dogs  ? "  I  said,  as  we  reached 
our  strand  again. 

"  St.  Paul  wrote,  '  Beware  of  dogs,' "  replied  Sam 
uel. 

"  But  did  he  mean  —  " 

"  I  argue  not  with  unbelievers ;  his  meaning  is 
clear  to  me,  let  that  suffice,"  said  my  strange  host, 
turning  away  and  leaving  me  to  find  my  way  back 
alone.  A  delicious  repast  was  awaiting  me.  Years 
have  gone  by,  the  world  and  all  its  delicacies  have 
been  unrolled  before  me,  but  the  memory  of  the 
meals  I  ate  in  that  little  kitchen  in  the  Flats  haunts 
me  still.  That  night  it  was  only  fish,  potatoes,  bis 
cuits,  butter,  stewed  fruit,  and  coffee ;  but  the  fish 
21 

o 


322  ST.    CLAIR  FLATS. 

was  fresh,  and  done  to  the  turn  of  a  perfect  broil, 
not  burn;  the  potatoes  were  fried  to  a  rare  crisp, 
yet  tender  perfection,  not  chippy  brittleness ;  the  bis 
cuits  were  light,  flaked  creamily,  and  brown  on  the 
bottom ;  the  butter  freshly  churned,  without  salt ; 
the  fruit,  great  pears,  with  their  cores  extracted, 
standing  whole  on  their  dish,  ready  to  melt,  but  not 
melted;  and  the  coffee  clear  and  strong,  with  yellow 
cream  and  the  old-fashioned,  unadulterated  loaf-sugar. 
We  ate.  That  does  not  express  it ;  we  devoured. 
Eoxana  waited  on  us,  and  warmed  up  into  something 
like  excitement  under  our  praises. 

"  I  do  like  good  cooking,"  she  confessed.  "  It 's 
about  all  I  have  left  of  my  old  life.  I  go  over  to 
the  mainland  for  supplies,  and  in  the  winter  I  try  all 
kinds  of  new  things  to  pass  away  the  time.  But  Sam 
uel  is  a  poor  eater,  he  is ;  and  so  there  is  n't  much 
comfort  in  it.  I  'm  mighty  glad  you  Ve  come,  and 
I  hope  you'll  stay  as  long  as  you  find  it  pleasant." 
This  we  promised  to  do,  as  we  finished  the  pota 
toes  and  attacked  the  great  jellied  pears.  "  There  's 
one  thing,  though,"  continued  Eoxana ;  "  you  '11  have 
to  come  to  our  service  on  the  roof  at  sunrise." 

"  What  service  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  The  invocation.  Dawn  is  a  holy  time,  Samuel  says, 
and  we  always  wait  for  it ;  '  before  the  morning  watch,' 
you  know,  —  it  says  so  in  the  Bible.  Why,  my  name 
means  '  the  dawn,'  Samuel  says ;  that 's  the  reason  he 


ST.   CLAIR  FLATS.  323 

gave  it  to  me.     My  real  name,  down  in  Maine,  was 
Maria,  —  Maria  Ann." 

"  But  I  may  not  wake  in  time,"  I  said. 

"  Samuel  will  call  you." 

"  And  if,  in  spite  of  that,  I  should  sleep  over  ? " 

"  You  would  not  do  that ;  it  would  vex  him,"  replied 
Roxana,  calmly. 

"Do  you  believe  in  these  visions,  madam?"  asked 
Raymond,  as  we  left  the  table,  and  seated  ourselves  in 
front  of  the  dying  fire. 

"Yes,"  said  Eoxana;  emphasis  was  unnecessary,— 
of  course  she  believed. 

"  How  often  do  they  come  ?  " 

"  Almost  every  day  there  is  a  spiritual  presence,  but 
it  does  not  always  speak.  They  come  and  hold  long 
conversations  in  the  winter,  when  there  is  nothing  else 
to  do ;  that,  I  think,  is  very  kind  of  them,  for  in  the 
summer  Samuel  can  fish,  and  his  time  is  more  occupied. 
There  were  fishermen  in  the  Bible,  you  know ;  it  is  a 
holy  calling." 

"  Does  Samuel  ever  go  over  to  the  mainland  ? " 

"  No,  he  never  leaves  the  Flats.  I  do  all  the  busi 
ness  ;  take  over  the  fish,  and  buy  the  supplies.  I 
bought  all  our  cattle,"  said  Eoxana,  with  pride.  "  I 
poled  them  away  over  here  on  a  raft,  one  by  one,  when 
they  were  little  things." 

"  Where  do  you  pasture  them  ?  " 

"  Here,  on  the  island  ;  there  are  only  a  few  acres,  to 


324  ST.   CLAIR  FLATS. 

be  sure ;  but  I  can  cut  boat-loads  of  the  best  feed  with 
in  a  stone's  throw.  If  we  only  had  a  little  more  solid 
ground  !  But  this  island  is  almost  the  only  solid  piece 
in  the  Flats." 

"  Your  butter  is  certainly  delicious." 

"  Yes,  I  do  my  best.  It  is  sold  to  the  steamers  and 
vessels  as  fast  as  I  make  it." 

"  You  keep  yourself  busy,  I  see." 

"  0,  I  like  to  work  ;  I  could  n't  get  on  without  it." 

"  And  Samuel  ?  " 

"  He  is  not  like  me/'  replied  Eoxana.  "  He  has  great 
gifts,  Samuel  has.  I  often  think  how  strange  it  is  that 
I  should  be  the  wife  of  such  a  holy  man  !  He  is  very 
kind  to  me,  too  ;  he  tells  me  about  the  visions,  and  all 
the  other  things." 

"  What  things  ?  "  said  Eaymond. 

"  The  spirits,  and  the  sacred  influence  of  the  sun ; 
the  fiery  triangle,  and  the  thousand  years  of  joy.  The 
great  day  is  coming,  you  know  ;  Samuel  is  waiting  for 
it." 

"  Nine  of  the  night.  Take  thou  thy  rest.  I  will  lay 
me  down  in  peace,  and  sleep,  for  it  is  thou,  Lord,  only, 
that  makest  me  dwell  in  safety,"  chanted  a  voice  in  the 
hall ;  the  tone  was  deep  and  not  without  melody,  and 
the  words  singularly  impressive  in  that  still,  remote 
place. 

"  Go,"  said  Eoxana,  instantly  pushing  aside  her  half- 
washed  dishes.  "  Samuel  will  take  you  to  your  room." 


ST.   CLAIR  FLATS.  325 

"  Do  you  leave  your  work  unfinished  ?  "  I  said,  with 
some  curiosity,  noticing  that  she  had  folded  her  hands 
without  even  hanging  up  her  towels. 

"  We  do  nothing  after  the  evening  chant,"  she  said. 
"  Pray  go ;  he  is  waiting." 

"  Can  we  have  candles  ? " 

"Waiting  Samuel  allows  no  false  lights  in  his  house; 
as  imitations  of  the  glorious  sun,  they  are  abominable 
to  him.  Go,  I  beg." 

She  opened  the  door,  and  we  went  into  the  passage ; 
it  was  entirely  dark,  but  the  man  led  us  across  to  our 
room,  showed  us  the  position  of  our  beds  by  sense  of 
feeling,  and  left  us  without  a  word.  After  he  had 
gone,  we  struck  matches,  one  by  one,  and,  with  the 
aid  of  their  uncertain  light,  managed  to  get  into  our 
respective  mounds  in  safety;  they  were  shake-downs 
on  the  floor,  made  of  fragrant  hay  instead  of  straw, 
covered  with  clean  sheets  and  patchwork  coverlids, 
and  provided  with  large,  luxurious  pillows.  0  pillow  ! 
Has  any  one  sung  thy  praises  ?  When  tired  or  sick, 
when  discouraged  or  sad,  what  gives  so  much  comfort 
as  a  pillow  ?  Not  your  curled-hair  brickbats ;  not  your 
stiffj  fluted,  rasping  covers,  or  limp  cotton  cases;  but 
a  good,  generous,  soft  pillow,  deftly  cased  in  smooth, 
cool,  untrimmed  linen  !  There 's  a  friend  for  you,  a 
friend  who  changes  not,  a  friend  who  soothes  all  your 
troubles  with  a  soft  caress,  a  mesmeric  touch  of  balmy 
forgetfulness. 


326  ST.    CLAIR  FLATS. 

I  slept  a  dreamless  sleep.  Then  I  heard  a  voice 
borne  toward  me  as  if  coming  from  far  over  a  sea,  the 
waves  bringing  it  nearer  and  nearer. 

"  Awake  ! "  it  cried  ;  "  awake !  The  night  is  far 
spent ;  the  day  is  at  hand.  Awake  ! " 

I  wondered  vaguely  over  this  voice  as  to-  what 
manner  of  voice  it  might  be,  but  it  came  again,  and 
again,  and  finally  I  awoke  to  find  it  at  my  side.  The 
gray  light  of  dawn  came  through  the  open  windows, 
and  Eaymond  was  already  up,  engaged  with  a  tub  of 
water  and  crash  towels.  Again  the  chant  sounded  in 
my  ears. 

"  Very  well,  very  well,"  I  said,  testily.  "  But  if  you 
sing  before  breakfast  you  '11  cry  before  night,  Waiting 
Samuel." 

Our  host  had  disappeared,  however,  without  hearing 
my  flippant  speech,  and  slowly  I  rose  from  my  fragrant 
couch ;  the  room  was  empty  save  for  our  two  mounds, 
two  tubs  of  water,  and  a  number  of  towels*  hanging  on 
nails.  "  Not  overcrowded  with  furniture,"  I  remarked. 

"  From  Maine  to  Florida,  from  Massachusetts  to 
Missouri,  have  I  travelled,  and  never  before  found 
water  enough,"  said  Eaymond.  "  If  waiting  for  the 
judgment-day  raises  such  liberal  ideas  of  tubs  and 
towels,  I  would  that  all  the  hotel-keepers  in  the  land 
could  be  convened  here  to  take  a  lesson." 

Our  green  hunting-clothes  were  soon  donned,  and 
we  went  out  into  the  hall ;  a  flight  of  broad  steps  led 


ST.   CLAIR  FLATS.  327 

up  to  the  roof;  Boxana  appeared  at  the  top  and  beck 
oned  us  thither.  We  ascended,  and  found  ourselves 
on  the  flat  roof.  Samuel  stood  with  his  face  toward 
the  east  and  his  arms  outstretched,  watching  the  hori 
zon  ;  behind  was  Roxana,  with  her  hands  clasped  on 
her  breast  and  her  head  bowed:  thus  they  waited. 
The  eastern  sky  was  bright  with  golden  light;  rays 
shot  upward  toward  the  zenith,  where  the  rose-lights 
of  dawn  were  retreating  down  to  the  west,  which  still 
lay  in  the  shadow  of  night;  there  was  not  a  sound; 
the  Flats  stretched  out  dusky  and  still.  Two  or  three 
minutes  passed,  and  then  a  dazzling  rim  appeared 
above  the  horizon,  and  the  first  gleam  of  sunshine  was 
shed  over  the  level  earth ;  simultaneously  the  two  be 
gan  a  chant,  simple  as  a  Gregorian,  but  rendered  in 
correct  full  tones.  The  words,  apparently,  had  been 
collected  from  the  Bible:  — 

"  The  heavens  declare  the  glory  of  God  — 

Joy  cometh  in  the  morning  ! 
In  them  is  laid  out  the  path  of  the  sun  — 

Joy  cometh  in  the  morning  ! 
As  a  bridegroom  goeth  he  forth  ; 
As  a  strong  man  runneth  his  race. 
The  outgoings  of  the  morning 

Praise  thee,  0  Lord  ! 
Like  a  pelican  in  the  wilderness, 
Like  a  sparrow  upon  the  house-top, 

I  wait  for  the  Lord. 
It  is  good  that  we  hope  and  wait, 

Wait  —  wait." 


328  ST.    CLAIR  FLATS. 

The  chant  over,  the  two  stood  a  moment  silently, 
as  if  in  contemplation,  and  then  descended,  passing 
us  without  a  word  or  sign,  with  their  hands  clasped 
before  them  as  though  forming  part  of  an  unseen  pro 
cession.  Kaymond  and  I  were  left  alone  upon  the 
house-top. 

"  After  all,  it  is  not  such  a  bad  opening  for  a  day ; 
and  there  is  the  pelican  of  the  wilderness  to  empha 
size  it,"  I  said,  as  a  heron  flew  up  from  the  water,  and, 
slowly  flapping  his  great  wings,  sailed  across  to  another 
channel.  As  the  sun  rose  higher,  the  birds  began  to 
sing;  first  a  single  note  here  and  there,  then  a  little 
trilling  solo,  and  finally  an  outpouring  of  melody  on 
all  sides,  —  land-birds  and  water-birds,  birds  that  lived 
in  the  Flats,  and  birds  that  had  flown  thither  for  break 
fast,  —  the  whole  waste  was  awake  and  rejoicing  in  the 
sunshine. 

"  What  a  wild  place  it  is  ! "  said  Eaymond.  "  How 
boundless  it  looks  !  One  hill  in  the  distance,  one  dark 
line  of  forest,  even  one  tree,  would  break  its  charm.  I 
have  seen  the  ocean,  I  have  seen  the  prairies,  I  have 
seen  the  great  desert,  but  this  is  like  a  mixture  of  the 
three.  It  is  an  ocean  full  of  land,  —  a  prairie  full  of 
water,  —  a  desert  full  of  verdure." 

"Whatever  it  is,  we  shall  find  in  it  fishing  and 
aquatic  hunting  to  our  hearts'  content,"  I  answered. 

And  we  did.  After  a  breakfast  delicious  as  the  sup 
per,  we  took  our  boat  and  a  lunch-basket,  and  set  out. 


ST.    CLAIR  FLATS.  329 

"  But  how  shall  we  ever  find  our  way  back  ? "  I  said, 
pausing  as  I  recalled  the  network  of  runs,  and  the 
will-o'-the-wisp  aspect  of  the  house,  the  previous 
evening. 

"  There  is  no  other  way  but  to  take  a  large  ball  of 
cord  with  you,  fasten  one  end  on  shore,  and  let  it  run 
out  over  the  stern  of  the  boat,"  said  Eoxana.  "  Let  it 
run  out  loosely,  and  it  will  float  on  the  water.  When 
you  want  to  come  back  you  can  turn  around  and  wind 
it  in  as  you  come.  /  can  read  the  Flats  like  a  book, 
but  they're  very  blinding  to  most  people;  and  you 
might  keep  going  round  in  a  circle.  You  will  do 
better  not  to  go  far,  anyway.  I  '11  wind  the  bugle  on 
the  roof  an  hour  before  sunset;  you  can  start  back 
when  you  hear  it ;  for  it 's  awkward  getting  supper 
after  dark."  With  this  musical  promise  we  took  the 
clew  of  twine  which  Eoxana  rigged  for  us  in  the  stern 
of  our  boat,  and  started  away,  first  releasing  Captain 
Kidd,  who  was  pacing  his  islet  in  sullen  majesty,  like 
another  Napoleon  on  St.  Helena.  We  took  a  new 
channel  and  passed  behind  the  house,  where  the  im 
ported  cattle  were  feeding  in  their  little  pasture ;  but 
the  winding  stream  soon  bore  us  away,  the  house  sank 
out  of  sight,  and  we  were  left  alone. 

We  had  fine  sport  that  morning  among  the  ducks,  — 
wood,  teal,  and  canvas-back,  —  shooting  from  behind 
our  screens  woven  of  rushes ;  later  in  the  day  we  took 
to  fishing.  The  sun  shone  down,  but  there  was  a  cool 


330  ST.    GLAIR  FLATS. 

September  breeze,  and  the  freshness  of  the  verdure  was 
like  early  spring.  At  noon  we  took  our  lunch  and 
a  siesta  among  the  water-lilies.  When  we  awoke  we 
found  that  a  bittern  had  taken  up  his  position  near 
by,  and  was  surveying  us  gravely :  — 

"  '  The  moping  bittern,  motionless  and  stiff, 
That  on  a  stone  so  silently  and  stilly 
Stands,  an  apparent  sentinel,  as  if 

To  guard  the  water-lily,'  " 

quoted  Eaymond.  The  solemn  bird,  in  his  dark  uni 
form,  seemed  quite  undisturbed  by  our  presence ;  yel 
low-throats  and  swamp-sparrows  also  came  in  num 
bers  to  have  a  look  at  us ;  and  the  fish  swam  up  to 
the  surface  and  eyed  us  curiously.  Lying  at  ease 
in  the  boat,  we  in  our  turn  looked  down  into  the 
water.  There  is  a  singular  fascination  in  looking  down 
into  a  clear  stream  as  the  boat  floats  above ;  the  mosses 
and  twining  water-plants  seem  to  have  arbors  and 
grottos  in  their  recesses,  where  delicate  marine  crea 
tures  might  live,  naiads  and  mermaids  of  miniature 
size ;  at  least  we  are  always  looking  for  them.  There 
is  a  fancy,  too,  that  one  may  find  something,  —  a  ring 
dropped  from  fair  fingers  idly  trailing  in  the  water; 
a  book  which  the  fishes  have  read  thoroughly ;  a  scarf 
caught  among  the  lilies ;  a  spoon  with  unknown  ini 
tials  ;  a  drenched  ribbon,  or  an  embroidered  handker 
chief.  None  of  these  things  did  we  find,  but  we  did 
discover  an  old  brass  breastpin,  whose  probable  glass 


ST.   CLAIR  FLATS.  331 

stone  was  gone.  It  was  a  paltry  trinket  at  best,  but 
I  fished  it  out  with  superstitious  care,  —  a  treasure- 
trove  of  the  Flats.  " '  Drowned/  "  I  said,  pathetically, 
"  '  drowned  in  her  white  robes  — ' ' 

"And  brass  breastpin,"  added  Eaymond,  who  ob 
jected  to  sentiment,  true  or  false. 

"  You  Philistine  !     Is  nothing  sacred  to  you  ? " 

"  Not  brass  jewelry,  certainly." 

"  Take  some  lilies  and  consider  them,"  I  said,  pluck 
ing  several  of  the  queenly  blossoms  floating  along 
side. 

"Cleopatra  art  thou,  regal  blossom, 

Floating  in  thy  galley  down  the  Nile,  — 
All  my  soul  does  homage  to  thy  splendor, 

All  my  heart  grows  warmer  in  thy  smile  ; 
Yet  thou  smilest  for  thine  own  grand  pleasure, 

Caring  not  for  all  the  world  beside, 
As  in  insolence  of  perfect  beauty, 

Sailest  thou  in  silence  down  the  tide. 

"  Loving,  humble  rivers  all  pursue  thee, 

Wasted  are  their  kisses  at  thy  feet ; 
Fiery  sun  himself  cannot  subdue  thee, 

Calm  thou  smilest  through  his  raging  heat ; 
Naught  to  thee  the  earth's  great  crowd  of  blossoms, 

Naught  to  thee  the  rose-queen  on  her  throne  ; 
Haughty  empress  of  the  summer  waters, 

Li  vest  thou,  and  diest,  all  alone." 

This  from  Eaymond. 

"Where  did  you  find  that?"  I  asked. 

"  It  is  my  own." 


332  ST.    CLAIR  FLATS. 

"  Of  course !  I  might  have  known  it.  There  is  a 
certain  rawness  of  style  and  versification  which — " 

"  That 's  right,"  interrupted  Eaymond  ;  "  I  know 
just  what  you  are  going  to  say.  The  whole  matter 
of  opinion  is  a  game  of  '  folio w-my-leader ';  not  one 
of  you  dares  admire  anything  unless  the  critics  say 
so.  If  I  had  told  you  the  verses  were  by  somebody 
instead  of  a  nobody,  you  would  have  found  wonder 
ful  beauties  in  them." 

"Exactly.  My  motto  is,  'Never  read  anything 
unless  it  is  by  a  somebody.'  For,  don't  you  see,  that 
a  nobody,  if  he  is  worth  anything,  will  soon  grow 
into  a  somebody,  and,  if  he  is  n't  worth  anything, 
you  will  have  saved  your  time ! " 

"But  it  is  not  merely  a  question  of  growing,"  said 
Eaymond ;  "  it  is  a  question  of  critics." 

"  No ;  there  you  are  mistaken.  All  the  critics  in 
the  world  can  neither  make  nor  crush  a  true  poet." 

"What  is  poetry?"  said  Raymond,  gloomily. 

At  this  comprehensive  question,  the  bittern  gave 
a  hollow  croak,  and  flew  away  with  his  long  legs  trail 
ing  behind  him.  Probably  he  was  not  of  an  sesthetic 
turn  of  mind,  and  dreaded  lest  I  should  give  a  ramified 
answer. 

Through  the  afternoon  we  fished  when  the  fancy 
struck  us,  but  most  of  the  time  we  floated  idly,  en 
joying  the  wild  freedom  of  the  watery  waste.  We 
watched  the  infinite  varieties  of  the  grasses,  feathery, 


ST.   CLAIR  FLATS.  333 

lance-leaved,  tufted,  drooping,  banner-like,  the  deer's 
tongue,  the  \vild-celery,  and  the  so-called  wild-rice, 
besides  many  unknown  beauties  delicately  fringed, 
as  difficult  to  catch  and  hold  as  thistle-down.  There 
were  plants  journeying  to  and  fro  on  the  water  like 
nomadic  tribes  of  the  desert ;  there  were  fleets  of 
green  leaves  floating  down  the  current;  and  now  and 
then  we  saw  a  wonderful  flower  with  scarlet  bells, 
but  could  never  approach  near  enough  to  touch  it. 

At  length,  the  distant  sound  of  the  bugle  came  to 
us  on  the  breeze,  and  I  slowly  wound  in  the  clew, 
directing  Raymond  as  he  pushed  the  boat  along, 
backing  water  with  the  oars.  The  sound  seemed  to 
come  from  every  direction.  There  was  nothing  for 
it  to  echo  against,  but,  in  place  of  the  echo,  we  heard 
a  long,  dying  cadence,  which  sounded  on  over  the 
Flats  fainter  and  fainter  in  a  sweet,  slender  note, 
until  a  new  tone  broke  forth.  The  music  floated 
around  us,  now  on  one  side,  now  on  the  other;  if 
it  had  been  our  only  guide,  we  should  have  been 
completely  bewildered.  But  I  wound  the  cord  stead 
ily;  and  at  last  suddenly,  there  before  us,  appeared 
the  house  with  Eoxana  on  the  roof,  her  figure  out 
lined  against  the  sky.  Seeing  us,  she  played  a  final 
salute,  and  then  descended,  carrying  the  imprisoned 
music  with  her. 

That  night  we  had  our  supper  at  sunset.  Waiting 
Samuel  had  his  meals  by  himself  in  the  front  room. 


334  ST.   CLAIR  FLATS. 

"So  that  in  case  the  spirits  come,  I  shall  not  be 
there  to  hinder  them,"  explained  Eoxana.  "I  am 
not  holy,  like  Samuel;  they  will  not  speak  before 
me." 

"Do  you  have  your  meals  apart  in  the  winter, 
also  ?  "  asked  Eaymond. 

"Yes." 

"That  is  not  very  sociable,"  I  said. 

"Samuel  never  was  sociable,"  replied  Eoxana. 
"  Only  common  folks  are  sociable ;  but  he  is  different. 
He  has  great  gifts,  Samuel  has." 

The  meal  over,  we  went  up  on  the  roof  to  smoke 
our  cigars  in  the  open  air;  when  the  sun  had  dis 
appeared  and  his  glory  had  darkened  into  twilight, 
our  host  joined  us.  He  was  a  tall  man,  wasted  and 
gaunt,  with  piercing  dark  eyes  and  dark  hair,  tinged 
with  gray,  hanging  down  upon  his  shoulders.  (Why 
is  it  that  long  hair  on  the  outside  is  almost  always 
the  sign  of  something  wrong  in  the  inside  of  a  man's 
head  ?)  He  wore  a  black  robe  like  a  priest's  cassock, 
and  on  his  head  a  black  skull-cap  like  the  Faust  of 
the  operatic  stage. 

"  Why  were  the  Flats  called  St.  Clair  ? "  I  said ; 
for  there  is  something  fascinating  to  me  in  the  un 
known  history  of  the  West.  "  There  is  n't  any,"  do 
you  say  ?  you,  I  mean,  who  are  strong  in  the  Punic 
wars!  you,  too,  who  are  so  well  up  in  Grecian  my 
thology.  But  there  is  history,  only  we  don't  know 


ST.   GLAIR  FLATS.  335 

it.  The  story  of  Lake  Huron  in  the  times  of  the 
Pharaohs,  the  story  of  the  Mississippi  during  the 
reign  of  Belshazzar,  would  be  worth  hearing.  But  it 
is  lost !  All  we  can  do  is  to  gather  together  the 
details  of  our  era,  —  the  era  when  Columbus  came  to 
this  New  "World,  which  was,  nevertheless,  as  old  as 
the  world  he  left  behind. 

"It  was  in  1679,"  began  Waiting  Samuel,  "that 
La  Salle  sailed  up  the  Detroit  Eiver  in  his  little 
vessel  of  sixty  tons  burden,  called  the  Griffin.  He 
was  accompanied  by  thirty-four  men,  mostly  fur- 
traders  ;  but  there  were  among  them  two  holy  monks, 
and  Father  Louis  Hennepin,  a  friar  of  the  Franciscan 
order.  They  passed  up  the  river  and  entered  the 
little  lake  just  south  of  us,  crossing  it  and  these 
Flats  on  the  12th  of  August,  which  is  Saint  Glair's 
day.  Struck  with  the  gentle  beauty  of  the  scene, 
they  named  the  waters  after  their  saint,  and  at  sunset 
sang  a  Te  Deum  in  her  honor." 

"And  who  was  Saint  Clair  ? " 

"  Saint  Clair,  virgin  and  abbess,  born  in  Italy,  in 
1193,  made  superior  of  a  convent  by  the  great  Francis, 
and  canonized  for  her  distinguished  virtues,"  said 
Samuel,  as  though  reading  from  an  encyclopaedia. 

"  Are  you  a  Roman  Catholic  ? "  asked  Raymond. 

"  I  am  everything ;  all  sincere  faith  is  sacred  to  rne," 
replied  the  man.  "It  is  but  a  question  of  names." 

"  Tell  us  of  your  religion,"  said  Raymond,  thought- 


336  ST.   CLAIR  FLATS. 

fully;  for  in  religions  Raymond  was  something  of  a 
polyglot. 

"You  would  hear  of  my  faith?  Well,  so  be  it. 
Your  question  is  the  work  of  spirit  influence.  Listen, 
then.  The  great  Creator  has  sowed  immensity  with 
innumerable  systems  of  suns.  In  one  of  these  sys 
tems  a  spirit  forgot  that  he  was  a  limited,  subordi 
nate  being,  and  misused  his  freedom ;  how,  we  know 
not.  He  fell,  and  with  him  all  his  kind.  A  new 
race  was  then  created  for  the  vacant  world,  and,  ac 
cording  to  the  fixed  purpose  of  the  Creator,  each  was 
left  free  to  act  for  himself;  he  loves  not  mere  ma 
chines.  The  fallen  spirit,  envying  the  new  creature 
called  man,  tempted  him  to  sin.  What  was  his  sin  ? 
Simply  the  giving  up  of  his  birthright,  the  divine 
soul-sparkle,  for  a  promise*  of  earthly  pleasure.  The 
triune  divine  deep,  the  mysterious  fiery  triangle, 
which,  to  our  finite  minds,  best  represents  the  Deity, 
now  withdrew  his  personal  presence;  the  elements, 
their  balance  broken,  stormed  upon  man;  his  body, 
which  was  once  ethereal,  moving  by  mere  volition, 
now  grew  heavy ;  and  it  was  also  appointed  unto 
him  to  die.  The  race  thus  darkened,  crippled,  and 
degenerate,  sank  almost  to  the  level  of  the  brutes, 
the  mind-fire  alone  remaining  of  all  their  spiritual 
gifts.  They  lived  on  blindly,  and  as  blindly  died. 
The  sun,  however,  was  left  to  them,  a  type  of  what 
they  had  lost. 


ST.   CLAIR  FLATS.  337 

"  At  length,  in  the  fulness  of  time,  the  world-day  of 
four  thousand  years,  which  was  appointed  by  the  coun 
cil  in  heaven  for  the  regiving  of  the  divine  and  for 
feited  soul-sparkle,  as  on  the  fourth  day  of  creation  the 
great  sun  was  given,  there  came  to  earth  the  earth's 
compassionate  Saviour,  who  took  upon  himself  our 
degenerate  body,  and  revivified  it  with  the  divine  soul- 
sparkle,  who  overcame  all  our  temptations,  and  finally 
allowed  the  tinder  of  our  sins  to  perish  in  his  own 
painful  death  upon  the  cross.  Through  him  our  para 
dise  body  was  restored,  it  waits  for  us  on  the  other 
side  of  the  grave.  He  showed  us  what  it  was  like  on 
Mount  Tabor,  with  it  he  passed  through  closed  doors, 
walked  upon  the  water,  and  ruled  the  elements;  so 
will  it  be  with  us.  Paradise  will  come  again;  this 
world  will,  for  a  thousand  years,  see  its  first  estate; 
it  will  be  again  the  Garden  of  Eden.  America  is  the 
great  escaping-place ;  here  will  the  change  begin.  As 
it  is  written,  '  Those  who  escape  to  my  utmost  borders.' 
As  the  time  draws  near,  the  spirits  who  watch  above 
are  permitted  to  speak  to  those  souls  who  listen.  Of 
these  listening,  waiting  souls  am  I ;  therefore  have  I 
withdrawn  myself.  The  sun  himself  speaks  to  me, 
the  greatest  spirit  of  all;  each  morning  I  watch  for 
his  coming ;  each  morning  I  ask, '  Is  it  to-day  ? '  Thus 
do  I  wait." 

"And  how  long  have  you  been  waiting?"  I  asked. 

"  I  know  not ;  time  is  nothing  to  me." 
22 


338  ST.   GLAIR  FLATS. 

"  Is  the  great  day  near  at  hand  ? "   said  Eaymond. 

"Almost  at  its  dawning;  the  last  days  are  pass 
ing." 

"How  do  you  know  this?" 

"  The  spirits  tell  me.  Abide  here,  and  perhaps  they 
will  speak  to  you  also/'  replied  Waiting  Samuel. 

We  made  no  answer.  Twilight  had  darkened  into 
night,  and  the  Flats  had  sunk  into  silence  below  us. 
After  some  moments  I  turned  to  speak  to  our  host; 
but,  noiselessly  as  one  of  his  own  spirits,  he  had 
departed. 

"A  strange  mixture  of  Jacob  Bcehmen,  chiliastic 
dreams,  Christianity,  sun-worship,  and  modern  spirit 
ualism,"  I  said.  "  Much  learning  hath  made  the  Maine 
farmer  mad." 

"  Is  he  mad  ? "  said  Eaymond.  "  Sometimes  I  think 
we  are  all  mad." 

"We  should  certainly  become  so  if  we  spent  our 
time  in  speculations  upon  subjects  clearly  beyond  our 
reach.  The  whole  race  of  philosophers  from  Plato 
down  are  all  the  time  going  round  in  a  circle.  As  long 
as  we  are  in  the  world,  I  for  one  propose  to  keep  my 
feet  on  solid  ground ;  especially  as  we  have  no  wings. 
'Abide  here,  and  perhaps  the  spirits  will  speak  to 
you/  did  he  say  ?  I  think  very  likely  they  will,  and  to 
such  good  purpose  that  you  won't  have  any  mind  left." 

"After  all,  why  should  not  spirits  speak  to  us?" 
said  Raymond,  in  a  musing  tone. 


ST.    GLAIR  FLATS.  339 

As  he  uttered  these  words  the  mocking  laugh  of  a 
loon  came  across  the  dark  waste. 

"  The  very  loons  are  laughing  at  you,"  I  said,  rising. 
"Come  down;  there  is  a  chill  in  the  air,  composed 
in  equal  parts  of  the  Flats,  the  night,  and  Waiting 
Samuel.  Come  down,  man;  come  down  to  the  warm 
kitchen  and  common-sense." 

We  found  Eoxana  alone  by  the  fire,  whose  glow  was 
refreshingly  real  and  warm ;  it  was  like  the  touch  of 
a  flesh-and-blood  hand,  after  vague  dreamings  of  spirit- 
companions,  cold  and  intangible  at  best,  with  the 
added  suspicion  that,  after  all,  they  are  but  creations 
of  our  own  fancy,  and  even  their  spirit-nature  ficti 
tious.  Prime,  the  graceful  raconteur  who  goes  a-fish- 
ing,  says,  "firelight  is  as  much  of  a  polisher  in-doors 
as  moonlight  outside."  It  is;  but  with  a  different 
result.  The  moonlight  polishes  everything  into  ro 
mance,  the  firelight  into  comfort.  We  brought  up 
two  remarkably  easy  old  chairs  in  front  of  the  hearth 
and  sat  down,  Eaymond  still  adrift  with  his  wandering 
thoughts,  I,  as  usual,  making  talk  out  of  the  present. 
Eoxana  sat  opposite,  knitting  in  hand,  the  cat  purring 
at  her  feet.  She  was  a  slender  woman,  with  faded 
light  hair,  insignificant  features,  small  dull  blue  eyes, 
and  a  general  aspect  which,  with  every  desire  to  state 
at  its  best,  I  can  only  call  commonplace.  Her  gown 
was  limp,  her  hands  roughened  with  work,  and  there 
was  no  collar  around  her  yellow  throat.  0  magic  rim 


340  ST.   CLAIR  FLATS. 

of  white,  great  is  thy  power !  With  thee,  man  is  civil 
ized  ;  without  thee,  he  becomes  at  once  a  savage. 

"  I  am  out  of  pork/'  remarked  Eoxana,  casually ;  •'  I 
must  go  over  to  the  mainland  to-morrow  and  get  some." 

If  it  had  been  anything  but  pork !  In  truth,  the 
word  did  not  chime  with  the  mystic  conversation  of 
Waiting  Samuel.  Yes;  there  was  no  doubt  about  it. 
Eoxana's  mind  was  sadly  commonplace. 

"  See  what  I  have  found,"  I  said,  after  a  while,  taking 
out  the  old  breastpin.  "  The  stone  is  gone ;  but  who 
knows  ?  It  might  have  been  a  diamond  dropped  by 
some  French  duchess,  exiled,  and  fleeing  for  life  across 
these  far  Western  waters;  or  perhaps  that  German 
Princess  of  Brunswick- Wolfen-soinething-or-other,  who, 
about  one  hundred  years  ago,  was  dead  and  buried 
in  Eussia,  and  travelling  in  America  at  the  same 
time,  a  sort  of  a  female  wandering  Jew,  who  has 
been  done  up  in  stories  ever  since." 

(The  other  day,  in  Bret  Harte's  "  Melons,"  I  saw  the 
following :  "  The  singular  conflicting  conditions  of  John 
Brown's  body  and  soul  were,  at  that  time,  beginning 
to  attract  the  attention  of  American  youth."  That  is 
good,  is  n't  it  ?  Well,  at  the  time  I  visited  the  Flats, 
the  singular  conflicting  conditions  of  the  Princess  of 
Brunswick- Wolfen-something-or-other  had,  for  a  long 
time,  haunted  me.) 

Eoxana's  small  eyes  were  near-sighted ;  she  peered 
at  the  empty  setting,  but  said  nothing. 


ST.    CLAIR  FLATS.  341 

"  It  is  water-logged,"  I  continued,  holding  it  up  in 
the  firelight,  "  and  it  hath  a  brassy  odor ;  nevertheless, 
I  feel  convinced  that  it  belonged  to  the  princess." 

Roxana  leaned  forward  and  took  the  trinket ;  I 
lifted  up  my  arms  and  gave  a  mighty  stretch,  one  of 
those  enjoyable  lengthenings-out  which  belong  only  to 
the  healthy  fatigue  of  country  life.  When  I  drew  my 
self  in  again,  I  was  surprised  to  see  Roxana' s  features 
working,  and  her  rough  hands  trembling,  as  she  held 
the  battered  setting. 

"  It  was  mine,"  she  said ;  "  my  dear  old  cameo 
breastpin  that  Abby  gave  me  when  I  was  married.  I 
saved  it  and  saved  it,  and  would  n't  sell  it,  no  matter 
how  low  we  got,  for  someway  it  seemed  to  tie  me  to 
home  and  baby's  grave.  I  used  to  wear  it  when  I 
had  baby  —  I  had  neck- ribbons  then;  we  had  things 
like  other  folks,  and  on  Sundays  we  went  to  the  old 
meeting-house  on  the  green.  Baby  is  buried  there  — 

0  baby,  baby  !  "  and  the  voice  broke  into  sobs. 

"You  lost  a  child?"  I  said,  pitying  the  sorrow 
which  was,  which  must  be,  so  lonely,  so  unshared. 

"Yes.  O  baby !  baby  ! "  cried  the  woman,  in  a  wail 
ing  tone.  "  It  was  a  little  boy,  gentlemen,  and  it  had 
curly  hair,  and  could  just  talk  a  word  or  two;  its 
name  was  Ethan,  after  father,  but  we  all  called  it 
Robin.  Father  was  mighty  proud  of  Robin,  and 
mother,  too.  It  died,  gentlemen,  my  baby  died,  and 

1  buried  it  in  the  old  churchyard  near  the  thorn -tree. 


342  ST.   GLAIR  FLATS. 

But  still  I  thought  to  stay  there  always  along  with 
mother  and  the  girls ;  I  never  supposed  anything  else, 
until  Samuel  began  to  see  visions.  Then,  everything 
was  different,  and  everybody  against  us ;  for,  you  see, 
I  would  marry  Samuel,  and  when  he  left  off  working, 
and  began  to  talk  to  the  spirits,  the  folks  all  said,  '  I 
told  yer  so,  Maria  Ann ! '  Samuel  was  n't  of  Maine 
stock  exactly :  his  father  was  a  sailor,  and  't  was  sus 
pected  that  his  mother  was  some  kind  of  an  East-Injia 
woman,  but  no  one  knew.  His  father  died  and  left 
the  boy  on  the  town,  so  he  lived  round  from  house  to 
house  until  he  got  old  enough  to  hire  out.  Then  he 
came  to  our  farm,  and  there  he  stayed.  He  had  won 
derful  eyes,  Samuel  had,  and  he  had  a  way  with  him 
—  well,  the  long  and  short  of  it  was,  that  I  got  to 
thinking  about  him,  and  couldn't  think  of  anything 
else.  The  folks  did  n't  like  it  at  all,  for,  you  see,  there 
was  Adam  Band,  who  had  a  farm  of  his  own  over  the 
hill ;  but  I  never  could  bear  Adam  Eand.  The  worst 
of  it  was,  though,  that  Samuel  never  so  much  as  looked 
at  me,  hardly.  Well,  it  got  to  be  the  second  year,  and 
Susan,  my  younger  sister,  married  Adam  Hand.  Adam, 
he  thought  he'd  break  up  my  nonsense,  that's  what 
they  called  it,  and  so  he  got  a  good  place  for  Samuel 
away  down  in  Connecticut,  and  Samuel  said  he  'd  go, 
for  he  was  always  restless,  Samuel  was.  When  I 
heard  it,  I  was  ready  to  lie  down  and  die.  I  ran  out 
into  the  pasture  and  threw  myself  down  by  the  fence 


ST.   CLAIR  FLATS.  343 

like  a  crazy  woman.  Samuel  happened  to  come  by 
along  the  lane,  and  saw  me ;  he  was  always  kind  to  all 
the  dumb  creatures,  and  stopped  to  see  what  was  the 
matter,  just  as  he  would  have  stopped  to  help  a  calf. 
It  all  came  out  then,  and  he  was  awful  sorry  for  me. 
He  sat  down  on  the  top  bar  of  the  fence  and  looked  at 
me,  and  I  sat  on  the  ground  a-crying  with  my  hair 
down,  and  my  face  all  red  and  swollen. 

" '  I  never  thought  to  marry,  Maria  Ann/  says  he. 

" '  0,  please  do,  Samuel,'  says  I,  '  I  'm  a  real  good 
housekeeper,  I  am,  and  we  can  have  a  little  land  of 
our  own,  and  everything  nice  — ' 

" '  But  I  wanted  to  go  away.  My  father  was  a 
sailor/  he  began,  a-looking  away  off  toward  the  ocean. 

" '  0,  I  can't  stand  it,  —  I  can't  stand  it/  says  I, 
beginning  to  cry  again.  Well,  after  that  he  'greed 
to  stay  at  home  and  marry  me,  and  the  folks  they 
had  to  give  in  to  it  when  they  saw  how  I  felt.  We 
were  married  on  Thanksgiving  day,  and  I  wore  a  pink 
delaine,  purple  neck-ribbon,  and  this  very  breastpin 
that  sister  Abby  gave  me,  —  it  cost  four  dollars,  and 
came  'way  from  Boston.  Mother  kissed  me,  and  said 
she  hoped  I  'd  be  happy. 

" '  Of  course  I  shall,  mother/  says  I.  '  Samuel  has 
great  gifts ;  he  is  n't  like  common  folks.' 

" '  But  common  folks  is  a  deal  comfortabler/  says 
mother.  The  folks  never  understood  Samuel. 

"Well,  we   had   a   chirk   little  house   and   bit    of 


344  ST.   CLAIR  FLATS. 

land,  and  baby  came,  and  was  so  cunning  and  pretty. 
The  visions  had  begun  to  appear  then,  and  Samuel 
said  he  must  go. 

"'Where?'  says  I. 

"'Anywhere  the  spirits  lead  me,'  says  he. 

"  But  baby  could  n't  travel,  and  so  it  hung  along ; 
Samuel  left  off  work,  and  everything  ran  down  to 
loose  ends ;  I  did  the  best  I  could,  but  it  was  n't 
much.  Then  baby  died,  and  I  buried  him  under  the 
thorn-tree,  and  the  visions  came  thicker  and  thicker, 
and  Samuel  told  me  as  how  this  time  he  must  go. 
The  folks  wanted  me  to  stay  behind  without  him ; 
but  they  never  understood  me  nor  him.  I  could  no 
more  leave  him  than  I  could  fly ;  I  was  just  wrapped 
up  in  him.  So  we  went  away  ;  I  cried  dreadfully 
when  it  came  to  leaving  the  folks  and  Eobin's  little 
grave,  but  I  had  so  much  to  do  after  we  got  started, 
that  there  was  n't  time  for  anything  but  work.  We 
thought  to  settle  in  ever  so  many  places,  but  after  a 
while  there  would  always  come  a  vision,  and  I  'd  have 
to  sell  out  and  start  on.  The  little  money  we  had  was 
soon  gone,  and  then  I  went  out  for  days'  work,  and 
picked  up  any  work  I  could  get.  But  many 's  the  time 
we  were  cold,  and  many 's  the  time  we  were  hungry, 
gentlemen.  The  visions  kept  coming,  and  by  and  by  I 
got  to  like  'em  too.  Samuel  he  told  me  all  they  said 
when  I  came  home  nights,  and  it  was  nice  to  hear  all 
about  the  thousand  years  of  joy,  when  there  'd  be  no 


ST.   CLAIR  FLATS.  345 

more  trouble,  and  when  Eobin  would  come  back  to  us 
again.  Only  I  told  Samuel  that  I  hoped  the  world 
would  n't  alter  much,  because  I  wanted  to  go  back 
to  Maine  for  a  few  days,  and  see  all  the  old  places. 
Father  and  mother  are  dead,  I  suppose,"  said  Eoxana, 
looking  up  at  us  with  a  pathetic  expression  in  her 
small  dull  eyes.  Beautiful  eyes  are  doubly  beautiful 
in  sorrow  ;  but  there  is  something  peculiarly  pathetic 
in  small  dull  eyes  looking  up  at  you,  struggling  to 
express  the  grief  that  lies  within,  like  a  prisoner  be 
hind  the  bars  of  his  small  dull  window. 

"  And  how  did  you  lose  your  breastpin  ? "  I  said, 
coming  back  to  the  original  subject. 

"  Samuel  found  I  had  it,  and  threw  it  away  soon 
after  we  came  to  the  Flats;  he  said  it  was  vanity." 

"  Have  you  been  here  long  ? " 

"  0  yes,  years.  I  hope  we  shall  stay  here  always 
now, —  at  least,  I  mean  until  the  thousand  years  of  joy 
begin,  —  for  it 's  quiet,  and  Samuel  's  more  easy  here 
than  in  any  other  place.  I  Ve  got  used  to  the  lonely 
feeling,  and  don't  mind  it  much  now.  There 's  no  one 
near  us  for  miles,  except  Eosabel  Lee  and  Liakim; 
they  don't  come  here,  for  Samuel  can't  abide  'em,  but 
sometimes  I  stop  there  on  my  way  over  from  the 
mainland,  and  have  a  little  chat  about  the  children. 
Eosabel  Lee  has  got  lovely  children,  she  has !  They 
don't  stay  there  in  the  winter,  though ;  the  winters  are 
long,  I  don't  deny  it." 


346  ST.   CLAIR  FLATS. 

"What  do  you  do  then?" 

"Well,  I  knit  and  cook,  and  Samuel  reads  to  me, 
and  has  a  great  many  visions." 

"He  has  books,  then?" 

"Yes,  all  kinds;  he's  a  great  reader,  and  he  has 
boxes  of  books  about  the  spirits,  and  such  things." 

"Nine  of  the  night.  Take  thou  thy  rest.  I  will 
lay  me  down  in  peace  and  sleep ;  for  it  is  thou,  Lord, 
only,  that  makest  me  dwell  in  safety,"  chanted  the 
voice  in  the  hall;  and  our  evening  was  over. 

At  dawn  we  attended  the  service  on  the  roof;  then, 
after  breakfast,  we  released  Captain  Kidd,  and  started 
out  for  another  day's  sport.  We  had  not  rowed  far 
when  Eoxana  passed  us,  poling  her  flat-boat  rapidly 
along;  she  had  a  load  of  fish  and  butter,  and  was 
bound  for  the  mainland  village.  "Bring  us  back  a 
Detroit  paper,"  I  said.  She  nodded  and  passed  on, 
stolid  and  homely  in  the  morning  light.  Yes,  I  was 
obliged  to  confess  to  myself  that  she  was  common 
place. 

A  glorious  day  we  had  on  the  moors  in  the  rushing 
September  wind.  Everything  rustled  and  waved  and 
danced,  and  the  grass  undulated  in  long  billows  as  far 
as  the  eye  could  see.  The  wind  enjoyed  himself  like 
a  mad  creature ;  he  had  no  forests  to  oppose  him,  no 
heavy  water  to  roll  up,  —  nothing  but  merry,  swaying 
grasses.  It  was  the  west  wind,  —  "  of  all  the  winds, 
the  best  wind."  The  east  wind  was  given  us  for  our 


ST.   CLAIR  FLATS.  347 

sins;  I  have  long  suspected  that  the  east  wind  was 
the  angel  that  drove  Adam  out  of  Paradise.  We  did 
nothing  that  day,  —  nothing  but  enjoy  the  rushing 
breeze.  We  felt  like  Bedouins  of  the  desert,  with  our 
boat  for  a  steed.  "  He  came  flying  upon  the  wings 
of  the  wind,"  is  the  grandest  image  of  the  Hebrew 
poet. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  we  heard  the  bugle  and  re 
turned,  following  our  clew  as  before.  Eoxana  had 
brought  a  late  paper,  and,  opening  it,  I  saw  the  ac 
count  of  an  accident,  —  a  yacht  run  down  on  the 
Sound  and  five  drowned ;  five,  all  near  and  dear  to  us. 
Hastily  and  sadly  we  gathered  our  possessions  to 
gether;  the  hunting,  the  fishing,  were  nothing  now; 
all  we  thought  of  was  to  get  away,  to  go  home  to  the 
sorrowing  ones  around  the  new-made  graves.  Eoxana 
went  with  us  in  her  boat  to  guide  us  back  to  the  little 
lighthouse.  Waiting  Samuel  bade  us  no  farewell,  but  as 
we  rowed  away  we  saw  him  standing  on  the  house-top 
gazing  after  us.  We  bowed ;  he  waved  his  hand ;  and 
then  turned  away  to  look  at  the  sunset.  What  were 
our  little  affairs  to  a  man  who  held  converse  with  the 
spirits ! 

We  rowed  in  silence.  How  long,  how  weary  seemed 
the  way !  The  grasses,  the  lilies,  the  silver  channels,  — 
we  no  longer  even  saw  them.  At  length  the  forward 
boat  stopped.  "  There  's  the  lighthouse  yonder,"  said 
Eoxana.  "  I  won't  go  over  there  to-night.  Mayhap 


348  ST.   CLAIR  FLATS. 

you  'd  rather  not  talk,  and  Eosabel  Lee  will  be  sure  to 
talk  to  me.  Good  by."  We  shook  hands,  and  I  laid 
in  the  boat  a  sum  of  money  to  help  the  little  house 
hold  through  the  winter;  then  we  rowed  on  toward 
the  lighthouse.  At  the  turn  I  looked  back;  Koxana 
was  sitting  motionless  in  her  boat;  the  dark  clouds 
were  rolling  up  behind  her ;  and  the  Flats  looked  wild 
and  desolate.  (:  God  help  her  ! "  I  said. 

A  steamer  passed  the  lighthouse  and  took  us  off 
within  the  hour. 

Years  rolled  away,  and  I  often  thought  of  the  grassy 
sea,  and  intended  to  go  there;  but  the  intention 
never  grew  into  reality.  In  1870,  however,  I  was 
travelling  westward,  and,  finding  myself  at  Detroit,  a 
sudden  impulse  took  me  up  to  the  Flats.  The  steamer 
sailed  up  the  beautiful  river  and  crossed  the  little  lake, 
both  unchanged.  But,  alas  !  the  canal  predicted  by 
the  captain  fifteen  years  before  had  been  cut,  and,  in 
all  its  unmitigated  ugliness,  stretched  straight  through 
the  enchanted  land.  I  got  off  at  the  new  and  pro 
saic  brick  lighthouse,  half  expecting  to  see  Liakim 
and  his  Rosabel  Lee  ;  but  they  were  not  there,  and 
no  one  knew  anything  about  them.  And  Waiting 
Samuel  ?  No  one  knew  anything  about  him,  either. 
I  took  a  skiff,  and,  at  the  risk  of  losing  myself,  I 
rowed  away  into  the  wilderness,  spending  the  day 
among  the  silvery  channels,  which  were  as  beautiful 
as  ever.  There  were  fewer  birds ;  I  saw  no  grave 


ST.   CLAIR  FLATS.  349 

herons,  no  sombre  bitterns,  and  the  fish  had  grown 
shy.  But  the  water-lilies  were  beautiful  as  of  old, 
and  the  grasses  as  delicate  and  luxuriant.  I  had 
scarcely  a  hope  of  finding  the  old  house  on  the  island, 
but  late  in  the  afternoon,  by  a  mere  chance,  I  rowed 
up  unexpectedly  to  its  little  landing-place.  The  walls 
stood  firm  and  the  roof  was  unbroken ;  I  landed  and 
walked  up  the  overgrown  path.  Opening  the  door, 
I  found  the  few  old  chairs  and  tables  in  their  places, 
weather-beaten  and  decayed,  the  storms  had  forced  a 
way  within,  and  the  floor  was  insecure ;  but  the  gay 
crockery  was  on  its  shelf,  the  old  tins  against  the 
wall,  and  all  looked  so  natural  that  I  almost  feared 
to  find  the  mortal  remains  of  the  husband  and  wife 
as  I  went  from  room  to  room.  They  were  not  there, 
however,  and  the  place  looked  as  if  it  had  been 
uninhabited  for  years.  I  lingered  in  the  doorway. 
What  had  become  of  them  ?  Were  they  dead  ?  Or 
had  a  new  vision  sent  them  farther  toward  the  set 
ting  sun  ?  I  never  knew,  although  I  made  many  in 
quiries.  If  dead,  they  were  probably  lying  somewhere 
under  the  shining  waters;  if  alive,  they  must  have 
"  folded  their  tents,  like  the  Arabs,  and  silently  stolen 
away." 

I  rowed  back  in  the  glow  of  the  evening  across 
the  grassy  sea.  "  It  is  beautiful,  beautiful,"  I  thought, 
"but  it  is  passing  away.  Already  commerce  has  in 
vaded  its  borders;  a  few  more  years  and  its  love- 


350  ST.   CLA1R  FLATS. 

liness  will  be  but  a  legend  of  the  past.  The  bittern 
has  vanished ;  the  loon  has  fled  away.  Waiting 
Samuel  was  the  prophet  of  the  waste;  he  has  gone, 
and  the  barriers  are  broken  down.  Farewell,  beauti 
ful  grass-water!  No  artist  has  painted,  no  poet  has 
sung  your  wild,  vanishing  charm ;  but  in  one  heart, 
at  least,  you  have  a  place,  O  lovely  land  of  St. 
Clair!" 


THE 


LADY  OF  LITTLE  FISHING. 


IT  was  an  island  in  Lake  Superior. 
I  beached  my  canoe  there  about  four  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon,  for  the  wind  was  against  me  and  a  high 
sea  running.  The  late  summer  of  1850,  and  I  was 
coasting  along  the  south  shore  of  the  great  lake,  hunt 
ing,  fishing,  and  camping  on  the  beach,  under  the 
delusion  that  in  that  way  I  was  living  "  close  to  the 
great  heart  of  nature,"  —  whatever  that  may  mean. 
Lord  Bacon  got  up  the  phrase  ;  I  suppose  he  knew. 
Pulling  the  boat  high  and  dry  on  the  sand  with  the 
comfortable  reflection  that  here  were  no  tides  to  disturb 
her  with  their  goings-out  and  comings-in,  I  strolled 
through  the  woods  on  a  tour  of  exploration,  expecting 
to  find  bluebells,  Indian  pipes,  juniper  rings,  perhaps 
a  few  agates  along-shore,  possibly  a  bird  or  two  for 
company.  I  found  a  town. 

It  was  deserted ;  but  none  the  less  a  town,  with 
three  streets,  residences,  a  meeting-house,  gardens,  a 
little  park,  and  an  attempt  at  a  fountain.  Euins  are 
rare  in  the  New  World ;  I  took  off  my  hat.  "  Hail, 


352  THE  LADY  OF  LITTLE  FISHING. 

homes  of  the  past !  "  I  said.  (I  cultivated  the  habit  of 
thinking  aloud  when  I  was  living  close  to  the  great 
heart  of  nature.)  "  A  human  voice  resounds  through 

'  O 

your  arches  "  (there  were  no  arches,  —  logs  won't  arch  ; 
but  never  mind)  "  once  more,  a  human  hand  touches 
your  venerable  walls,  a  human  foot  presses  your  de 
serted  hearth-stones."  I  then  selected  the  best  half  of 
the  meeting-house  for  my  camp,  knocked  down  one 
of  the  homes  for  fuel,  and  kindled  a  glorious  bonfire 
in  the  park.  "  Now  that  you  "are  illuminated  with  joy, 
O  Euin,"  I  remarked,  "  I  will  go  down  to  the  beach 
and  bring  up  my  supplies.  It  is  long  since  I  have 
had  a  roof  over  my  head  ;  I  promise  you  to  stay  until 
your  last  residence  is  well  burned ;  then  I  will  make 
a  final  cup  of  coffee  with  the  meeting-house  itself, 
and  depart  in  peace,  leaving  your  poor  old  bones 
buried  in  decent  ashes." 

The  ruin  made  no  objection,  and  I  took  up  my 
abode  there;  the  roof  of  the  meeting-house  was  still 
water-tight  (which  is  an  advantage  w7hen  the  great 
heart  of  nature  grows  wet).  I  kindled  a  fire  on  the 
sacerdotal  hearth,  cooked  my  supper,  ate  it  in  leisurely 
comfort,  and  then  stretched  myself  on  a  blanket  to 
enjoy  an  evening  pipe  of  peace,  listening  meanwhile 
to  the  sounding  of  the  wind  through  the  great  pine- 
trees.  There  was  no  door  to  my  sanctuary,  but  I  had 
the  cosey  far  end;  the  island  was  uninhabited,  there 
was  not  a  boat  in  sight  at  sunset,  nothing  could  dis- 


THE  LADY  OF  LITTLE  FISHING.  353 

turb  me  unless  it  might  be  a  ghost.     Presently  a  ghost 
came  in. 

It  did  not  wear  the  traditional  gray  tarlatan  armor 
of  Hamlet's  father,  the  only  ghost  with  whom  I  am 
well  acquainted;  this  spectre  was  clad  in  substantial 
deer-skin  garments,  and  carried  a  gun  and  loaded 
game-bag.  It  came  forward  to  my  hearth,  hung  up 
its  gun,  opened  its  game-bag,  took  out  some  birds, 
and  inspected  them  gravely. 
.  "Fat?"  I  inquired. 

"  They  '11  do,"  replied  the  spectre,  and  forthwith  set 
to  work  preparing  them  for  the  coals.  I  smoked  on 
in  silence.  The  spectre  seemed  to  be  a  skilled  cook, 
and  after  deftly  broiling  its  supper,  it  offered  me  a 
share  :  I  accepted.  It  swallowed  a  huge  mouthful  and 
crunched  with  its  teeth;  the  spell  was  broken,  and 
I  knew  it  for  a  man  of  flesh  and  blood. 

He  gave  his  name  as  Eeuben,  and  proved  himself 
an  excellent  camping  companion;  in  fact,  he  shot  all 
the  game,  caught  all  the  fish,  made  all  the  fires,  and 
cooked  all  the  food  for  us  both.  I  proposed  to  him 
to  stay  and  help  me  burn  up  the  ruin,  with  the  con 
dition  that  when  the  last  timber  of  the  meeting-house 
was  consumed,  we  should  shake  hands  and  depart, 
one  to  the  east,  one  to  the  west,  without  a  backward 
glance.  "  In  that  way  we  shall  not  infringe  upon  each 
other's  personality,"  I  said. 

"Agreed,"  replied  Eeuben. 
23 


354  THE  LADY  OF  LITTLE  FISHING. 

He  was  a  man  of  between  fifty  and  sixty  years, 
while  I  was  on  the  sunny  side  of  thirty;  he  was 
reserved,  I  was  always  generously  affable;  he  was  an 
excellent  cook,  while  I  —  well,  I  was  n't;  he  was 
taciturn,  and  so,  in  payment  for  the  work  he  did,  I 
entertained  him  with  conversation,  or  rather  mono 
logue,  in  my  most  brilliant  style.  It  took  only  two 
weeks  to  burn  up  the  town,  burned  we  never  so 
slowly ;  at  last  it  came  the  turn  of  the  meeting-house, 
which  now  stood  by  itself  in  the  vacant  clearing.  It 
was  a  cool  September  day ;  we  cooked  breakfast  with 
the  roof,  dinner  with  the  sides,  supper  with  the  odds 
and  ends,  and  then  applied  a  torch  to  the  frame 
work.  Our  last  camp-fire  was  a  glorious  one.  We 
lay  stretched  on  our  blankets,  smoking  and  watching 
the  glow.  "  I  wonder,  now,  who  built  the  old  shanty," 
I  said  in  a  musing  tone. 

"  Well,5'  replied  Reuben,  slowly,  "  if  you  really  want 
to  know,  I  will  tell  you.  I  did." 

"You!" 

"Yes." 

"You  did  n't  do  it  alone?" 

"No;  there  were  about  forty  of  us." 

"Here?" 

"Yes;  here  at  Little  Fishing." 

"Little  Fishing?" 

"Yes;  Little  Fishing  Island.  That  is  the  name 
of  the  place." 


THE  LADY  OF  LITTLE  FISHING.  355 

"  How  long  ago  was  this  ?  " 

"Thirty  years." 

"  Hunting  and  trapping,  I  suppose  ? " 

"Yes;  for  the  Northwest  and  Hudson  Bay  Com 
panies." 

"Was  n't  a  meeting-house  an  unusual  accompani 
ment  ? " 

"  Most  unusual." 

"Accounted  for  in  this  case  by  — " 

"A  woman." 

"  Ah  ! "  I  said  in  a  tone  of  relish ;  "  then  of  course 
there  is  a  story  ? " 

"There  is." 

"  Out  with  it,  comrade.  I  scarcely  expected  to  find 
the  woman  and  her  story  up  here ;  but  since  the  irre 
pressible  creature  would  come,  out  with  her  by  all 
means.  She  shall  grace  our  last  pipe  together,  the  last 
timber  of  our  meeting-house,  our  last  night  on  Little 
Fishing.  The  dawn  will  see  us  far  from  each  other, 
to  meet  no  more  this  side  heaven.  Speak  then,  0  com 
rade  mine  !  I  am  in  one  of  my  rare  listening  moods  ! " 

I  stretched  myself  at  ease  and  waited.  Eeuben  was 
a  long  time  beginning,  but  I  was  too  indolent  to  urge 
him.  At  length  he  spoke. 

"  They  were  a  rough  set  here  at  Little  Fishing,  all 
the  worse  for  being  all  white  men  ;  most  of  the  other 
camps  were  full  of  half-breeds  and  Indians.  The  island 
had  been  a  station  away  back  in  the  early  days  of  the 


356  THE  LADY  OF  LITTLE  FISHING. 

Hudson  Bay  Company  ;  it  was  a  station  for  the  North 
west  Company  while  that  lasted  ;  then  it  went  back  to 
the  Hudson,  and  stayed  there  until  the  company  moved 
its  forces  farther  to  the  north.  It  was  not  at  any  time 
a  regular  post ;  only  a  camp  for  the  hunters.  The  post 
was  farther  down  the  lake.  0,  but  those  were  wild 
days  !  You  think  you  know  the  wilderness,  boy  ;  but  you 
know  nothing,  absolutely  nothing.  It  makes  me  laugh 
to  see  the  airs  of  you  city  gentlemen  with  your  fine 
guns,  improved  fishing-tackle,  elaborate  paraphernalia, 
as  though  you  were  going  to  wed  the  whole  forest,  float 
ing  up  and  down  the  lake  for  a  month  or  two  in  the 
summer  !  You  should  have  seen  the  hunters  of  Little 
Fishing  going  out  gayly  when  the  mercury  was  down 
twenty  degrees  below  zero,  for  a  week  in  the  woods. 
You  should  have  seen  the  trappers  wading  through  the 
hard  snow,  breast  high,  in  the  gray  dawn,  visiting  the 
traps  and  hauling  home  the  prey.  There  were  all 
kinds  of  men  here,  Scotch,  French,  English,  and  Amer 
ican  ;  all  classes,  the  high  and  the  low,  the  educated  and 
the  ignorant ;  all  sorts,  the  lazy  and  the  hard-working. 
One  thing  only  they  all  had  in  common,  —  badness. 
Some  had  fled  to  the  wilderness  to  escape  the  law, 
others  to  escape  order ;  some  had  chosen  the  wild  life 
because  of  its  wildness,  others  had  drifted  into  it  from 
sheer  lethargy.  This  far  northern  border  did  not  at 
tract  the  plodding  emigrant,  the  respectable  settler. 
Little  Fishing  held  none  of  that  trash  ;  only  a  reck- 


THE  LADY   OF   LITTLE  FISHING.  357 

less  set  of  fellows  who  carried  their  lives  in  their 
hands,  and  tossed  them  up,  if  need  be,  without  a  sec 
ond  thought." 

"  And  other  people's  lives  without  a  third,"  I  sug 
gested. 

"  Yes ;  if  they  deserved  it.  But  nobody  whined ; 
there  was  n't  any  nonsense  here.  The  men  went  hunt 
ing  and  trapping,  got  the  furs  ready  for  the  bateaux, 
ate  when  they  were  hungry,  drank  when  they  were 
thirsty,  slept  when  they  were  sleepy,  played  cards 
when  they  felt  like  it,  and  got  angry  and  knocked 
each  other  down  whenever  they  chose.  As  I  said 
before,  there  was  n't  any  nonsense  at  Little  Fishing,  — 
until  she  came." 

"Ah!  the  she!" 

"  Yes,  the  Lady,  —  our  Lady,  as  we  called  her. 
Thirty-one  years  ago ;  how  long  it  seems ! " 

"  And  well  it  may,"  I  said.  "  Why,  comrade,  I 
was  n't  born  then  !  " 

This  stupendous  fact  seemed  to  strike  me  more  than 
my  companion ;  he  went  on  with  his  story  as  though 
I  had  not  spoken. 

"  One  October  evening,  four  of  the  boys  had  got  into 
a  row  over  the  cards ;  the  rest  of  us  had  come  out  of 
our  wigwams  to  see  the  fun,  and  were  sitting  around 
on  the  stumps,  chaffing  them,  and  laughing ;  the  camp- 
fire  was  burning  in  front,  lighting  up  the  woods  with 
a  red  glow  for  a  short  distance,  and  making  the  rest 


358  THE   LADY   OF   LITTLE   FISHING. 

doubly  black  all  around.  There  we  all  were,  as  I  said 
before,  quite  easy  and  comfortable,  when  suddenly  there 
appeared  among  us,  as  though  she  had  dropped  from 
heaven,  a  woman ! 

"She  was  tall  and  slender,  the  firelight  shone  full 
on  her  pale  face  and  dove-colored  dress,  her  golden 
hair  was  folded  back  under  a  little  white  cap,  and  a 
white  kerchief  lay  over  her  shoulders ;  she  looked 
spotless.  I  stared ;  I  could  scarcely  believe  my  eyes ; 
none  of  us  could.  There  was  not  a  white  woman  west 
of  the  Sault  Ste.  Marie.  The  four  fellows  at  the  table 
sat  as  if  transfixed ;  one  had  his  partner  by  the  throat, 
the  other  two  were  disputing  over  a  point  in  the  game. 
The  lily  lady  glided  up  to  their  table,  gathered  the 
cards  in  her  white  hands,  slowly,  steadily,  without 
pause  or  trepidation  before  their  astonished  eyes,  and 
then,  coming  back,  she  threw  the  cards  into  the  centre 
of  the  glowing  fire.  '  Ye  shall  not  play  away  your 
souls/  she  said  in  a  clear,  sweet  voice.  '  Is  not  the 
game  sin  ?  And  its  reward  death  ? '  And  then,  im 
mediately,  she  gave  us  a  sermon,  the  like  of  which  was 
never  heard  before ;  no  argument,  no  doctrine,  just 
simple,  pure  entreaty.  '  For  the  love  of  God,'  she 
ended,  stretching  out  her  hands  towards  our  silent, 
gazing  group,  — '  for  the  love  of  God,  my  brothers,  try 
to  do  better.' 

"  We  did  try ;  but  it  was  not  for  the  love  of  God. 
Neither  did  any  of  us  feel  like  brothers. 


THE  LADY  OF  LITTLE  FISHING.  359 

"  She  did  not  give  any  name ;  we  called  her  sim 
ply  our  Lady,  and  she  accepted  the  title.  A  bundle 
carefully  packed  in  birch-bark  was  found  on  the 
beach.  '  Is  this  yours  ? '  asked  black  Andy. 

" '  It  is/  replied  the  Lady ;  and  removing  his  hat, 
the  black-haired  giant  carried  the  package  reverently 
inside  her  lodge.  For  we  had  given  her  our  best 
wigwam,  and  fenced  it  off  with  pine  saplings  so  that 
it  looked  like  a  miniature  fortress.  The  Lady  did  not 
suggest  this  stockade ;  it  was  our  own  idea,  and  with 
one  accord  we  worked  at  it  like  beavers,  and  hung 
up  a  gate  with  a  ponderous  bolt  inside. 

" '  Mais,  ze  can  nevare  farsen  eet  wiz  her  leetle  fin- 
gares/  said  Frenchy,  a  sallow  little  wretch  with  a 
turn  for  handicraft;  so  he  contrived  a  small  spring 
which  shot  the  bolt  into  place  with  a  touch.  The 
Lady  lived  in  her  fortress ;  three  times  a  day  the 
men  carried  food  to  her  door,  and,  after  tapping 
gently,  withdrew  again,  stumbling  over  each  other  in 
their  haste.  The  Flying  Dutchman,  a  stolid  Holland- 
born  sailor,  was  our  best  cook,  and  the  pans  and 
kettles  were  generally  left  to  him;  but  now  all 
wanted  to  try  their  skill,  and  the  results  were  ex 
traordinary. 

" '  She  's  never  touched  that  pudding,  now/  said 
Nightingale  Jack,  discontentedly,  as  his  concoction  of 
berries  and  paste  came  back  from  the  fortress  door. 

" '  She   will    starve    soon,    I    think/    remarked    the 


360  THE  LADY  OF  LITTLE  FISHING. 

Doctor,  calmly;  'to  my  certain  knowledge  she  has 
not  had  an  eatable  meal  for  four  days.'  And  he 
lighted  a  fresh  pipe.  This  was  an  aside,  and  the  men 
pretended  not  to  hear  it ;  but  the  pans  were  relin 
quished  to  the  Dutchman  from  that  time  forth. 

"  The  Lady  wore  always  her  dove-colored  robe,  and 
little  white  cap,  through  whose  muslin  we  could  see 
the  glimmer  of  her  golden  hair.  She  came  and  went 
among  us  like  a  spirit ;  she  knew  no  fear ;  she 
turned  our  life  inside  out,  nor  shrank  from  its  vile- 
ness.  It  seemed  as  though  she  was  not  of  earth,  so 
utterly  impersonal  was  her  interest  in  us,  so  heavenly 
her  pity.  She  took  up  our  sins,  one  by  one,  as  an 
angel  might;  she  pleaded  with  us  for  our  own  lost 
souls,  she  spared  us  not,  she  held  not  back  one 
grain  of  denunciation,  one  iota  of  future  punishment. 
Sometimes,  for  days,  we  would  not  see  her ;  then,  at 
twilight,  she  would  glide  out  among  us,  and,  standing 
in  the  light  of  the  camp-fire,  she  would  preach  to  us 
as  though  inspired.  We  listened  to  her;  I  do  not 
mean  that  we  were  one  whit  better  at  heart,  but  still 
we  listened  to  her,  always.  It  was  a  wonderful  sight, 
that  lily  face  under  the  pine-trees,  that  spotless  wo 
man  standing  alone  in  the  glare  of  the  fire,  while 
around  her  lay  forty  evil-minded,  lawless  men,  not 
one  of  whom  but  would  have  killed  his  neighbor  for 
so  much  as  a  disrespectful  thought  of  her. 

"So  strange  was  her  coming,  so  almost  supernatu- 


THE  LADY  OF  LITTLE  FISHING.  361 

ral  her  appearance  in  this  far  forest,  that  we  never 
wondered  over  its  cause,  but  simply  accepted  it  as  a 
sort  of  miracle;  your  thoroughly  irreligious  men  are 
always  superstitious.  Not  one  of  us  would  have  asked 
a  question,  and  we  should  never  have  known  her 
story  had  she  not  herself  told  it  to  us;  not  imme 
diately,  not  as  though  it  was  of  any  importance,  but 
quietly,  briefly,  and  candidly  as  a  child.  She  came, 
she  said,  from  Scotland,  with  a  band  of  God's  people. 
She  had  always  been  in  one  house,  a  religious  insti 
tution  of  some  kind,  sewing  for  the  poor  when  her 
strength  allowed  it,  but  generally  ill,  and  suffering 
much  from  pain  in  her  head;  often  kept  under  the 
influence  of  soothing  medicines  for  days  together. 
She  had  no  father  or  mother,  she  was  only  one  of 
this  band;  and  when  they  decided  to  send  out  mis 
sionaries  to  America,  she  begged  to  go,  although  but 
a  burden ;  the  sea  voyage  restored  her  health ;  she 
grew,  she  said,  in  strength  and  in  grace,  and  her 
heart  was  as  the  heart  of  a  lion.  Word  came  to  her 
from  on  high  that  she  should  come  up  into  the  north 
ern  lake-country  and  preach  the  gospel  there ;  the 
band  were  going  to  the  verdant  prairies.  She  left 
them  in  the  night,  taking  nothing  but  her  clothing; 
a  friendly  vessel  carried  her  north ;  she  had  preached 
the  gospel  everywhere.  At  the  Sault  the  priests  had 
driven  her  out,  but  nothing  fearing,  she  went  on  into 
the  wilderness,  and  so,  coming  part  of  the  way  in 


362  THE  LADY  OF  LITTLE  FISHING. 

canoes,  part  of  the  way  along-shore,  she  had  reached 
our  far  island.  Marvellous  kindness  had  she  met 
with,  she  said ;  the  Indians,  the  half-breeds,  the 
hunters,  and  the  trappers  had  all  received  her,  and 
helped  her  on  her  way  from  camp  to  camp.  They 
had  listened  to  her  words  also.  At  Portage  they  had 
begged  her  to  stay  through  the  winter,  and  offered  to 
build  her  a  little  church  for  Sunday  services.  Our 
men  looked  at  each  other.  Portage  was  the  worst 
camp  on  the  lake,  notorious  for  its  fights;  it  was  a 
mining  settlement. 

" '  But  I  told  them  I  must  journey  on  towards  the 
west,'  continued  our  Lady.  '  I  am  called  to  visit  every 
camp  on  this  shore  before  the  winter  sets  in ;  I  must 
soon  leave  you  also.' 

"The  men  looked  at  each  other  again;  the  Doctor 
was  spokesman.  '  But,  my  Lady,'  he  said,  '  the  next 
post  is  Fort  William,  two  hundred  and  thirty-five 
miles  away  on  the  north  shore.' 

" '  It  is  almost  November ;  the  snow  will  soon  be 
six  and  ten  feet  deep.  The  Lady  could  never  travel 
through  it,  —  could  she,  now  ? '  said  Black  Andy,  who 
had  begun  eagerly,  but  in  his  embarrassment  at  the 
sound  of  his  own  voice,  now  turned  to  Frenchy  and 
kicked  him  covertly  into  answering. 

" '  Nevare  ! '  replied  the  Frenchman ;  he  had  in 
tended  to  place  his  hand  upon  his  heart  to  give 
emphasis  to  his  word,  but  the  Lady  turned  her  calm 


THE  LADY  OF  LITTLE  FISHING.  363 

eyes  that  way,  and  his  grimy  paw  fell,  its  gallantry 
wilted. 

" '  I  thought  there  was  one  more  camp,  —  at  Burnt- 
Wood  Kiver,'  said  our  Lady  in  a  musing  tone.  The 
men  looked  at  each  other  a  third  time;  there  was  a 
camp  there,  and  they  all  knew  it.  But  the  Doctor 
was  equal  to  the  emergency. 

" '  That  camp,  my  Lady,'  he  said  gravely,  —  '  that 
camp  no  longer  exists ! '  Then  he  whispered  hurried 
ly  to  the  rest  of  us, '  It  will  be  an  easy  job  to  clean  it 
•  out,  boys.  We  '11  send  over  a  party  to-night;  it  's 
only  thirty-five  miles/ 

"  We  recognized  superior  genius ;  the  Doctor  was 
our  oldest  and  deepest  sinner.  But  what  struck  us 
most  was  his  anxiety  to  make  good  his  lie.  Had  it 
then  come  to  this,  —  that  the  Doctor  told  the  truth  ? 

"  The  next  day  we  all  went  to  work  to  build  our 
Lady  a  church ;  in  a  week  it  was  completed.  There 
goes  its  last  cross-beam  now  into  the  fire ;  it  was  a 
solid  piece  of  work,  was  n't  it  ?  It  has  stood  this 
climate  thirty  years.  I  remember  the  first  Sunday 
service:  we  all  washed,  and  dressed  ourselves  in  the 
best  we  had ;  we  scarcely  knew  each  other,  we  were 
so  fine.  The  Lady  was  pleased  with  the  church,  but 
yet  she  had  not  said  she  would  stay  all  winter;  we 
were  still  anxious.  How  she  preached  to  us  that 
day  !  We  had  made  a  screen  of  young  spruces  set 
in  boxes,  and  her  figure  stood  out  against  the  dark 


364  THE  LADY  OF  LITTLE  FISHING. 

green  background  like  a  thing  of  light.  Her  silvery 
voice  rang  through  the  log-temple,  her  face  seemed 
to  us  like  a  star.  She  had  no  color  in  her  cheeks 
at  any  time ;  her  dress,  too,  was  colorless.  Although 
gentle,  there  was  an  iron  inflexibility  about  her  slight, 
erect  form.  We  felt,  as  we  saw  her  standing  there, 
that  if  need  be  she  would  walk  up  to  the  lion's 
jaws,  the  cannon's  mouth,  with  a  smile.  She  took  a 
little  book  from  her  pocket  and  read  to  us  a  hymn,  — 
'  0  come,  all  ye  faithful,'  the  old  '  Adeste  Fideles.' 
Some  of  us  knew  it;  she  sang,  and  gradually,  shame 
facedly,  voices  joined  in.  It  was  a  sight  to  see 
Nightingale  Jack  solemnly  singing  away  about  '  choirs 
of  angels ' ;  but  it  was  a  treat  to  hear  him,  too,  — 
what  a  voice  he  had !  Then  our  Lady  prayed,  kneel 
ing  down  on  the  little  platform  in  front  of  the  ever 
greens,  clasping  her  hands,  and  lifting  her  eyes  to 
heaven.  We  did  not  know  what  to  do  at  first,  but 
the  Doctor  gave  us  a  severe  look  and  bent  his  head, 
and  we  all  followed  his  lead. 

"  When  service  was  over  and  the  door  opened,  we 
found  that  it  had  been  snowing ;  we  could  not  see  out 
through  the  windows  because  white  cloth  was  nailed 
over  them  in  place  of  glass. 

"  '  Now,  my  Lady,  you  will  have  to  stay  with  us,'  said 
the  Doctor.  We  all  gathered  around  with  eager  faces. 

"  '  Do  you  really  believe  that  it  will  be  for  the  good 
of  your  souls  ? '  asked  the  sweet  voice. 


THE  LADY  OF  LITTLE  FISHING.  365 

"  The  Doctor  believed  —  for  us  all. 

" '  Do  you  really  hope  ? ' 

"  The  Doctor  hoped. 

" '  Will  you  try  to  do  your  best  ? ' 

"  The  Doctor  was  sure  he  would. 

" '  I  will/  answered  the  Flying  Dutchman,  earnest 
ly.  'I  moost  not  fry  de  meat  any  more;  I  moost 
broil ! ' 

"  For  we  had  begged  him  for  months  to  broil,  and 
he  had  obstinately  refused ;  broil  represented  the  good, 
and  fry  the  evil,  to  his  mind;  he  came  out  for  the 
good  according  to  his  light ;  but  none  the  less  did  we 
fall  upon  him  behind  the  Lady's  back,  and  cuff  him 
into  silence. 

"She  stayed  with  us  all  winter.  You  don't  know 
what  the  winters  are  up  here ;  steady,  bitter  cold  for 
seven  months,  thermometer  always  below,  the  snow 
dry  as  dust,  the  air  like  a  knife.  We  built  a  com 
pact  chimney  for  our  Lady,  and  we  cut  cords  of  wood 
into  small,  light  sticks,  easy  for  her  to  lift,  and  stacked 
them  in  her  shed ;  we  lined  her  lodge  with  skins,  and 
we  made  oil  from  bear's  fat  and  rigged  up  a  kind  of 
lamp  for  her.  We  tried  to  make  candles,  I  remember, 
but  they  would  not  run  straight ;  they  came  out  hump 
backed  and  sidling,  and  burned  themselves  to  wick  in 
no  time.  Then  we  took  to  improving  the  town.  We 
had  lived  in  all  kinds  of  huts  and  lean-to  shanties ; 
now  nothing  would  do  but  regular  log-houses.  If  it 


366  THE  LADY  OF  LITTLE  FISHING. 

had  been  summer,  I  don't  know  what  we  might  not 
have  run  to  in  the  way  of  piazzas  and  fancy  steps ; 
but  with  the  snow  five  feet  deep,  all  we  could  accom 
plish  was  a  plain,  square  log-house,  and  even  that  took 
our  whole  force.  The  only  way  to  keep  the  peace  was 
to  have  all  the  houses  exactly  alike ;  we  laid  out  the 
three  streets,  and  built  the  houses,  all  facing  the 
meeting-house,  just  as  you  found  them." 

"  And  where  was  the  Lady's  lodge  ? "  I  asked,  for  I 
recalled  no  stockaded  fortress,  large  or  small. 

My  companion  hesitated  a  moment.  Then  he  said 
abruptly,  "  It  was  torn  down." 

"  Torn  down  ! "  I  repeated.     "  Why,  what  —  " 

Eeuben  waved  his  hand  with  a  gesture  that  silenced 
me,  and  went  on  with  his  story.  It  came  to  me  then 
for  the  first  time,  that  he  was  pursuing  the  current 
of  his  own  thoughts  rather  than  entertaining  me.  I 
turned  to  look  at  him  with  a  new  interest.  I  had 
talked  to  him  for  two  weeks,  in  rather  a  patronizing 
way;  could  it  be  that  affairs  were  now,  at  this  last 
moment,  reversed? 

"  It  took  us  almost  all  winter  to  build  those  houses," 
pursued  Reuben.  "At  one  time  we  neglected  the 
hunting  and  trapping  to  such  a  degree,  that  the  Doc 
tor  called  a  meeting  and  expressed  his  opinion.  Ours 
was  a  voluntary  camp,  in  a  measure,  but  still  we  had 
formally  agreed  to  get  a  certain  amount  of  skins  ready 
for  the  bateaux  by  early  spring ;  this  agreement  was 


THE  LADY  OF  LITTLE  FISHING.  367 

about  the  only  real  bond  of  union  between  us.  Those 
whose  houses  were  not  completed  scowled  at  the 
Doctor. 

" '  Do  you  suppose  I  'm  going  to  live  like  an  Injun 
when  the  other  fellows  has  regular  houses  ? '  inquired 
Black  Andy,  with  a  menacing  air. 

" '  By  no  means/  replied  the  Doctor,  blandly.  '  My 
plan  is  this:  build  at  night.' 

"'At  night?' 

"'Yes;  by  the  light  of  pine  fires.' 

"  We  did.  After  that,  we  faithfully  went  out  hunt 
ing  and  trapping  as  long  as  daylight  lasted,  and  then, 
after  supper,  we  built  up  huge  fires  of  pine  logs, 
and  went  to  work  on  the  next  house.  It  was  a 
strange  picture:  the  forest  deep  in  snow,  black  with 
night,  the  red  glow  of  the  great  fires,  and  our  mov 
ing  figures  working  on  as  complacently  as  though 
daylight,  balmy  air,  and  the  best  of  tools  were  ours. 

"The  Lady  liked  our  industry.  She  said  our  new 
houses  showed  that  the  'new  cleanliness  of  our  inner 
man  required  a  cleaner  tabernacle  for  the  outer.'  I 
don't  know  about  our  inner  man,  but  our  outer  was 
certainly  much  cleaner. 

"  One  day  the  Flying  Dutchman  made  one  of  his 
unfortunate  remarks.  '  De  boys  t'inks  you  '11  like 
dem  better  in  nize  houses/  he  announced  when,  hap 
pening  to  pass  the  fortress,  he  found  the  Lady  stand 
ing  at  her  gate  gazing  at  the  work  of  the  preceding 


368  THE  LADY  OF  LITTLE  FISHING. 

night.  Several  of  the  men  were  near  enough  to  hear 
him,  but  too  far  off  to  kick  him  into  silence  as 
usual ;  but  they  glared  at  him  instead.  The  Lady 
looked  at  the  speaker  with  her  dreamy,  far-off  eyes. 

" '  De  boys  t'inks  you  like  dem,'  began  the  Dutch 
man  again,  thinking  she  did  not  comprehend;  but 
at  that  instant  he  caught  the  combined  glare  of  the 
six  eyes,  and  stopped  abruptly,  not  at  all  knowing 
what  was  wrong,  but  sure  there  was  something. 

"'Like  them/  repeated  the  Lady,  dreamily;  'yea,  I 
do  like  them.  Nay,  more,  I  love  them.  Their  souls 
are  as  dear  to  me  as  the  souls  of  brothers.' 

" '  Say,  Frenchy,  have  you  got  a  sister  ? '  said  Night 
ingale  Jack,  confidentially,  that  evening. 

"'Mais  oui,'  said  Frenchy. 

" '  You  think  all  creation  of  her,  I  suppose  ? ' 

" '  We  fight  like  four  cats  and  one  dog ;  she  is  the 
cats,'  said  the  Frenchman  concisely. 

" '  You  don't  say  so  ! '  replied  Jack.  '  Now,  I  never 
had  a  sister,  —  but  I  thought  perhaps  — '  He  paused, 
and  the  sentence  remained  unfinished. 

"  The  Nightingale  and  I  were  house-mates.  We  sat 
late  over  our  fire  not  long  after  that ;  I  gave  a  gigantic 
yawn.  '  This  lifting  logs  half  the  night  is  enough  to 
kill  one,'  I  said,  getting  out  my  jug.  'Sing  something, 
Jack.  It 's  a  long  time  since  I  've  heard  anything  but 
hymns/ 

"Jack  always  went  off  as  easily  as  a  music-box: 


THE  LADY  OF  LITTLE  FISHING.  369 

you  had  only  to  wind  him  up ;  the  jug  was  the  key. 
I  soon  had  him  in  full  blast.  He  was  giving  out 

'The  minute  gun  at  sea,  —  the  minute  gun  at  sea,' 

with  all  the  pathos  of  his  tenor  voice,  when  the  door 
burst  open  and  the  whole  population  rushed  in  upon 
us. 

" '  What  do  you  mean  by  shouting  this  way,  in  the 
middle  of  the  night  ? ' 

"  '  Shut  up  your  howling,  Jack.' 

" '  How  do  you  suppose  any  one  can  sleep  ? ' 

"  '  It 's  a  disgrace  to  the  camp  ! ' 

"  '  Now  then,  gentlemen,'  I  replied,  for  my  blood  was 
up  (whiskey,  perhaps),  '  is  this  my  house,  or  is  n't  it  ? 
If  I  want  music,  I'll  have  it.  Time  was  when  you 
were  not  so  particular.' 

"It  was  the  first  word  of  rebellion.  The  men 
looked  at  each  other,  then  at  me. 

"'I'll  go  and  ask  her  if  she  objects,'  I  continued, 
boldly. 

"  '  No,  no.     You  shall  not.' 

" '  Let  him  go,'  said  the  Doctor,  who  stood  smoking 
his  pipe  on  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd.  '  It  is  just  as 
well  to  have  that  point  settled  now.  The  Minute  Gun 
at  Sea  is  a  good  moral  song  in  its  way, — a  sort  of 
marine  missionary  affair.' 

"  So  I  started,  the  others  followed ;  we  all  knew  that 

the  Lady  watched  late;  we  often  saw  the  glimmer  of 
24 


370  THE  LADY  OF  LITTLE  FISHING. 

her  lamp  far  on  towards  morning.  It  was  burning 
now.  The  gate  was  fastened,  I  knocked ;  no  answer. 
I  knocked  again,  and  yet  a  third  time;  still,  silence. 
The  men  stood  off  at  a  little  distance  and  waited. 
'  She  shall  answer/  I  said  angrily,  and  going  around 
to  the  side  where  the  stockade  came  nearer  to  the 
wall  of  the  lodge,  I  knocked  loudly  on  the  close-set 
saplings.  For  answer  I  thought  I  heard  a  low  moan  ; 
I  listened,  it  came  again.  My  anger  vanished,  and 
with  a  mighty  bound  I  swung  myself  up  to  the  top 
of  the  stockade,  sprung  down  inside,  ran  around,  and 
tried  the  door.  It  was  fastened ;  I  burst  it  open  and 
entered.  There,  by  the  light  of  the  hanging  lamp,  I 
saw  the  Lady  on  the  floor,  apparently  dead.  I  raised 
her  in  my  arms  ;  her  heart  was  beating  faintly,  but  she 
was  unconscious.  I  had  seen  many  fainting  fits ;  this 
was  something  different ;  the  limbs  were  rigid.  I  laid 
her  on  the  low  couch,  loosened  her  dress,  bathed  her 
head  and  face  in  cold  water,  and  wrenched  up  one  of 
the  warm  hearth-stones  to  apply  to  her  feet.  I  did 
not  hesitate ;  I  saw  that  it  was  a  dangerous  case, 
something  like  a  trance  or  an  'ecstasis.'  Somebody 
must  attend  to  her,  and  there  were  only  men  to  choose 
from.  Then  why  not  I  ? 

"I  heard  the  others  talking  outside;  they  could 
not  understand  the  delay;  but  I  never  heeded,  and 
kept  on  my  work.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  had  studied 
medicine,  and  felt  a  genuine  enthusiasm  over  a  rare 


THE  LADY  OF  LITTLE  FISHING.  371 

case.  Once  my  patient  opened  her  eyes  and  looked 
at  me,  then  she  lapsed  away  again  into  unconscious 
ness  in  spite  of  all  my  efforts.  At  last  the  men 
outside  came  in,  angry  and  suspicious ;  they  had 
broken  down  the  gate.  There  we  all  stood,  the  whole 
forty  of  us,  around  the  deathlike  form  of  our  Lady. 

"  What  a  night  it  was  !  To  give  her  air,  the  men 
camped  outside  in  the  snow  with  a  line  of  pickets 
in  whispering  distance  from  each  other  from  the  bed 
to  their  anxious  group.  Two  were  detailed  to  help 
me,  —  the  Doctor  (whose  title  was  a  sarcastic  D.  D.) 
and  Jimmy,  a  gentle  little  man,  excellent  at  band 
aging  broken  limbs.  Every  vial  in  the  camp  was 
brought  in,  —  astonishing  lotions,  drops,  and  balms  ; 
each  man  produced  something;  they  did  their  best, 
poor  fellows,  and  wore  out  the  night  with  their 
anxiety.  At  dawn  our  Lady  revived  suddenly, 
thanked  us  all,  and  assured  us  that  she  felt  quite 
well  again ;  the  trance  was  over.  '  It  was  my  old 
enemy,'  she  said,  'the  old  illness  of  Scotland,  which 
I  hoped  had  left  me  forever.  But  I  am  thankful 
that  it  is  no  worse ;  I  have  come  out  of  it  with  a 
clear  brain.  Sing  a  hymn  of  thankfulness  for  me, 
dear  friends,  before  you  go.' 

"Now,  we  sang  on  Sunday  in  the  church;  but 
then  she  led  us,  and  we  had  a  kind  of  an  idea  that 
after  all  she  did  not  hear  us.  But  now,  who  was 
to  lead  us  ?  We  stood  awkwardly  around  the  bed. 


372  THE  LADY  OF  LITTLE  FISHING. 

and  shuffled  our  hats  in  our  uneasy  fingers.  The 
Doctor  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  Nightingale;  Jack 
saw  it  and  cowered.  'Begin,'  said  the  Doctor  in  a 
soft  voice;  but  gripping  him  in  the  back  at  the 
same  time  with  an  ominous  clutch. 

" '  I  don't  know  the  words/  faltered  the  unhappy 
Nightingale. 

"  'Now  thank  we  all  our  God, 

With  hearts  and  hands  and  voices,' 

began  the  Doctor,  and  repeated  Luther's  hymn  with 
perfect  accuracy  from  beginning  to  end.  'What  will 
happen  next  ?  The  Doctor  knows  hymns ! '  we 
thought  in  profound  astonishment.  But  the  Night 
ingale  had  begun,  and  gradually  our  singers  joined 
in ;  I  doubt  whether  the  grand  old  choral  was  ever 
sung  by  such  a  company  before  or  since.  There  was 
never  any  further  question,  by  the  way,  about  that 
minute  gun  at  sea ;  it  stayed  at  sea  as  far  as  we 
were  concerned. 

"Spring  came,  the  faltering  spring  of  Lake  Supe 
rior.  I  won't  go  into  my  own  story,  but  such  as  it 
was,  the  spring  brought  it  back  to  me  with  new 
force.  I  wanted  to  go,  —  and  yet  I  did  n't.  '  Where,' 
do  you  ask  ?  To  see  her,  of  course,  —  a  woman,  the 
most  beautiful,  —  well,  never  mind  all  that.  To  be 
brief,  I  loved  her ;  she  scorned  me ;  I  thought  I  had 
learned  to  hate  her  —  but  —  I  was  n't  sure  about  it 
now.  I  kept  myself  aloof  from  the  others  and  gave 


THE  LADY  OF  LITTLE   FISHING.  373 

up  my  heart  to  the  old  sweet,  bitter  memories ;  I 
did  not  even  go  to  church  on  Sundays.  But  all  the 
rest  went ;  our  Lady's  influence  was  as  great  as  ever. 
I  could  hear  them  singing;  they  sang  better  now 
that  they  could  have  the  door  open ;  the  pent-up 
feeling  used  to  stifle  them.  The  time  for  the  ba 
teaux  drew  near,  and  I  noticed  that  several  of  the 
men  were  hard  at  work  packing  the  furs  in  bales, 
a  job  usually  left  to  the  voyageurs  who  came  with 
the  boats.  '  What 's  that  for  ? '  I  asked. 

" '  You  don't  suppose  we  're  going  to  have  those 
bateaux  rascals  camping  on  Little  Fishing,  do  you?' 
said  Black  Andy,  scornfully.  *  Where  are  your  wits, 
Beub?' 

"And  they  packed  every  skin,  rafted  them  all  over 
to  the  mainland,  and  waited  there  patiently  for  days, 
until  the  train  of  slow  boats  came  along  and  took  off 
the  bales;  then  they  came  back  in  triumph.  'Now 
we're  secure  for  another  six  months/  they  said,  and 
began  to  lay  out  a  park,  and  gardens  for  every  house. 
The  Lady  was  fond  of  flowers ;  the  whole  town  burst 
into  blossom.  The  Lady  liked  green  grass;  all  the 
clearing  was  soon  turfed  over  like  a  lawn.  The  men 
tried  the  ice-cold  lake  every  day,  waiting  anxiously 
for  the  time  when  they  could  bathe.  There  was  no  end 
to  their  cleanliness ;  Black  Andy  had  grown  almost 
white  again,  and  Frenchy's  hair  shone  like  oiled  silk. 

"The   Lady   stayed   on,   and   all   went   well.     But, 


374  THE  LADY  OF  LITTLE  FISHING. 

gradually,  there  came  a  discovery.  The  Lady  was 
changing,  —  had  changed  !  Gradually,  slowly,  "but 
none  the  less  distinctly  to  the  eyes  that  knew  her 
every  eyelash.  A  little  more  hair  was  visible  over  the 
white  brow,  there  was  a  faint  color  in  the  cheeks,  a 
quicker  step ;  the  clear  eyes  were  sometimes  downcast 
now,  the  steady  voice  softer,  the  words  at  times  fal 
tering.  In  the  early  summer  the  white  cap  vanished, 
and  she  stood  among  us  crowned  only  with  her  golden 
hair;  one  day  she  was  seen  through  her  open  door 
sewing  on  a  white  robe !  The  men  noted  all  these 
things  silently ;  they  were  even  a  little  troubled  as  at 
something  they  did  not  understand,  something  beyond 
their  reach.  Was  she  planning  to  leave  them  ? 

"  '  It 's  my  belief  she 's  getting  ready  to  ascend  right 
up  into  heaven/  said  Salem. 

"  Salem  was  a  little  '  wanting,'  as  it  is  called,  and  the 
men  knew  it ;  still,  his  words  made  an  impression. 
They  watched  the  Lady  with  an  awe  which  was  almost 
superstitious ;  they  were  troubled,  and  knew  not  why. 
But  the  Lady  bloomed  on.  I  did  not  pay  much  atten 
tion  to  all  this  ;  but  I  could  not  help  hearing  it.  My 
heart  was  moody,  full  of  its  own  sorrows ;  I  secluded 
myself  more  and  more.  Gradually  I  took  to  going  off 
into  the  mainland  forests  for  days  on  solitary  hunting 
expeditions.  The  camp  went  on  its  way  rejoicing ;  the 
men  succeeded,  after  a  world  of  trouble,  in  making  a 
fountain  which  actually  played,  and  they  glorified 


THE  LADY  OF  LITTLE  FISHING.  375 

themselves  exceedingly.  The  life  grew  quite  pastoral. 
There  was  talk  of  importing  a  cow  from  the  East,  and 
a  messenger  was  sent  to  the  Sault  for  certain  choice 
supplies  against  the  coming  winter.  But,  in  the  late 
summer,  the  whisper  went  round  again  that  the  Lady 
had  changed,  this  time  for  the  worse.  She  looked  ill, 
she  drooped  from  day  to  day;  the  new  life  that  had 
come  to  her  vanished,  but  her  former  life  was  not  re 
stored.  She  grew  silent  and  sad,  she  strayed  away  by 
herself  through  the  woods,  she  scarcely  noticed  the  men 
who  followed  her  with  anxious  eyes.  Time  passed, 
and  brought  with  it  an  undercurrent  of  trouble,  sus 
picion,  and  anger.  Everything  went  on  as  before  ;  not 
one  habit,  not  one  custom  was  altered ;  both  sides 
seemed  to  shrink  from  the  first  change,  however  slight. 
The  daily  life  of  the  camp  was  outwardly  the  same,  but 
brooding  trouble  filled  every  heart.  There  was  no  open 
discussion,  men  talked  apart  in  twos  and  threes ;  a 
gloom  rested  over  everything,  but  no  one  said,  '  What 
is  the  matter  ? ' 

"  There  was  a  man  among  us,  —  I  have  not  said 
much  of  the  individual  characters  of  our  party,  but  this 
man  was  one  of  the  least  esteemed,  or  rather  liked ; 
there  was  not  much  esteem  of  any  kind  at  Little 
Fishing.  Little  was  known  about  him ;  although  the 
youngest  man  in  the  camp,  he  was  a  mooning,  brooding 
creature,  with  brown  hair  and  eyes  and  a  melancholy 
face.  He  was  n't  hearty  and  whole-souled,  and  yet  he 


376  THE  LADY  OF  LITTLE  FISHING. 

was  n't  an  out-and-out  rascal ;  lie  was  n't  a  leader,  and 
yet  he  was  n't  follower  either.  He  would  n't  be ;  he 
was  like  a  third  horse,  always.  There  was  no  goodness 
about  him  ;  don't  go  to  fancying  that  that  was  the  rea 
son  the  men  did  not  like  him,  he  was  as  bad  as  they 
were,  every  inch !  He  never  shirked  his  work,  and 
they  could  n't  get  a  handle  on  him  anywhere ;  but  he 
was  just  —  unpopular.  The  why  and  the  wherefore 
are  of  no  consequence  now.  Well,  do  you  know  what 
was  the  suspicion  that  hovered  over  the  camp  ?  It 
was  this :  our  Lady  loved  that  man ! 

"  It  took  three  months  for  all  to  see  it,  and  yet  never 
a  word  was  spoken.  All  saw,  all  heard ;  but  they 
might  have  been  blind  and  deaf  for  any  sign  they 
gave.  And  the  Lady  drooped  more  and  more. 

"September  came,  the  fifteenth;  the  Lady  lay  on 
her  couch,  pale  and  thin;  the  door  was  open  and  a 
bell  stood  beside  her,  but  there  was  no  line  of  pickets 
whispering  tidings  of  her  state  to  an  anxious  group 
outside.  The  turf  in  the  three  streets  had  grown 
yellow  for  want  of  water,  the  flowers  in  the  little 
gardens  had  drooped  and  died,  the  fountain  was  choked 
with  weeds,  and  the  interiors  of  the  houses  were  all 
untidy.  It  was  Sunday,  and  near  the  hour  for  service ; 
but  the  men  lounged  about,  dingy  and  unwashed. 

" '  A'n't  you  going  to  church  ? '  said  Salem,  stopping 
at  the  door  of  one  of  the  houses ;  he  was  dressed  in  his 
best,  with  a  flower  in  his  button-hole. 


THE  LADY  OF  LITTLE  FISHING.  377 

" '  See  him  now !  See  the  fool/  said  Black  Andy. 
'  He  's  going  to  church,  he  is  !  And  where  's  the  min 
ister,  Salem  ?  Answer  me  that ! ' 

"  Why,  —  in  the  church,  I  suppose/  replied  Salem, 
vacantly. 

" '  No,  she  a'n't ;  not  she  !  She  's  at  home,  a-weep- 
ing,  and  a-wailing,  and  a-ger-nashing  of  her  teeth/ 
replied  Andy  with  bitter  scorn. 

" (  What  for  ? '  said  Salem. 

" '  What  for  ?  Why,  that 's  the  joke !  Hear  him, 
boys ;  he  wants  to  know  what  for ! ' 

"  The  loungers  laughed,  —  a  loud,  reckless  laugh. 

" '  Well,  I  'm  going  any  way/  said  Salem,  looking 
wonderingly  from  one  to  the  other ;  he  passed  on  and 
entered  the  church. 

" '  I  say,  boys,  let 's  have  a  high  old  time/  cried 
Andy,  savagely.  '  Let 's  go  back  to  the  old  way  and 
have  a  jolly  Sunday.  Let 's  have  out  the  jugs  and 
the  cards  and  be  free  again ! ' 

"The  men  hesitated;  ten  months  and  more  of  law 
and  order  held  them  back. 

"'What  are  you  afraid  of?'  said  Andy.  'Not  of  a 
canting  hypocrite,  I  hope.  She 's  fooled  us  long 
enough,  I  say.  Come  on ! '  He  brought  out  a  table 
and  stools,  and  produced  the  long-unused  cards  and 
a  jug  of  whiskey.  '  Strike  up,  Jack/  he  cried ;  '  give 
us  old  Fiery-Eyes.' 

"The  Nightingale  hesitated.     Fiery-Eyes  was  a  rol- 


378  THE  LADY   OF  LITTLE  FISHING. 

licking  drinking  song ;  but  Andy  put  the  glass  to  his 
lips  and  his  scruples  vanished  in  the  tempting  aroma. 
He  began  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  partners  were  chosen, 
and,  trembling  with  excitement  and  impatience,  like 
prisoners  unexpectedly  set  free,  the  men  gathered 
around,  and  made  their  bets. 

" '  What  born  fools  we  've  been,'  said  Black  Andy, 
laying  down  a  card. 

" '  Yes/  replied  the  Flying  Dutchman,  '  porn  fools  ! ' 
And  he  followed  suit. 

"  But  a  thin  white  hand  came  down  on  the  bits  of 
colored  pasteboard.  It  was  our  Lady.  With  her  hair 
disordered,  and  the  spots  of  fever  in  her  cheeks,  she 
stood  among  us  again ;  but  not  as  of  old.  Angry  eyes 
confronted  her,  and  Andy  wrenched  the  cards  from 
her  grasp.  'No,  my  Lady,'  he  said,  sternly;  'never 
again ! ' 

"  The  Lady  gazed  from  one  face  to  the  next,  and  so 
all  around  the  circle  ;  all  were  dark  and  sullen.  Then 
she  bowed  her  head  upon  her  hands  and  wept  aloud. 

"There  was  a  sudden  shrinking  away  on  all  sides, 
the  players  rose,  the  cards  were  dropped.  But  the 
Lady  glided  away,  weeping  as  she  went ;  she  entered 
the  church  door  and  the  men  could  see  her  taking  her 
accustomed  place  on  the  platform.  One  by  one  they 
followed ;  Black  Andy  lingered  till  the  last,  but  he 
came.  The  service  began,  and  went  on  falteringly, 
without  spirit,  with  palpable  fears  of  a  total  breaking 


THE  LADY  OF  LITTLE  FISHING.  379 

down  which  never  quite  came ;  the  Nightingale  sang 
almost  alone,  and  made  sad  work  with  the  words ; 
Salem  joined  in  confidently,  but  did  not  improve  the 
sense  of  the  hymn.  The  Lady  was  silent.  But  when 
the  time  for  the  sermon  came  she  rose  and  her  voice 
burst  forth. 

" '  Men,  brothers,  what  have  I  done  ?  A  change  has 
come  over  the  town,  a  change  has  come  over  your 
hearts.  You  shun  me  !  What  have  I  done  ? ' 

"  There  was  a  grim  silence ;  then  the  Doctor  rose 
in  his  place  and  answered,  — 

"  '  Only  this,  madam.  You  have  shown  yourself  to 
be  a  woman.' 

"  '  And  what  did  you  think  me  ? ' 

" ( A  saint.' 

" '  God  forbid  ! '  said  the  Lady,  earnestly.  '  I  never 
thought  myself  one.' 

" '  I  know  that  well.  But  you  were  a  saint  to  us ; 
hence  your  influence.  It  is  gone.' 

"  '  Is  it  all  gone  ? '  asked  the  Lady,  sadly. 

" '  Yes.  Do  not  deceive  yourself ;  we  have  never 
been  one  whit  better  save  through  our  love  for  you. 
We  held  you  as  something  high  above  ourselves ;  we 
were  content  to  worship  you.' 

"  '  0  no,  not  me  ! '  said  the  Lady,  shuddering. 

"  '  Yes,  you,  you  alone  !  But  —  our  idol  came  down 
among  us  and  showed  herself  to  be  but  common  flesh 
and  blood !  What  wonder  that  we  stand  aghast  ? 


380  THE  LADY  OF  LITTLE  FISHING. 

What  wonder  that  our  hearts  are  bitter  ?  What  won 
der  (worse  than  all ! )  that  when  the  awe  has  quite 
vanished,  there  is  strife  for  the  beautiful  image  fallen 
from  its  niche  ? ' 

"The  Doctor  ceased,  and  turned  away.  The  Lady 
stretched  out  her  hands  towards  the  others ;  her  face 
was  deadly  pale,  and  there  was  a  bewildered  ex 
pression  in  her  eyes. 

" '  0,  ye  for  whom.  I  have  prayed,  for  whom  I  have 
struggled  to  obtain  a  blessing,  —  ye  whom  I  have 
loved  so,  —  do  ye  desert  me  thus  ? '  she  cried. 

" '  You  have  deserted  us/  answered  a  voice. 

"'I  have  not.' 

"'You  have/  cried  Black  Andy,  pushing  to  the 
front.  '  You  love  that  Mitchell !  Deny  it  if  you 
dare ! ' 

"There  was  an  irrepressible  murmur,  then  a  sud 
den  hush.  The  angry  suspicion,  the  numbing  cer 
tainty  had  found  voice  at  last ;  the  secret  was  out. 
All  eyes,  which  had  at  first  closed  with  the  shock, 
were  now  fixed  upon  the  solitary  woman  before 
them;  they  burned  like  coals. 

" '  Do  I  ? '  murmured  the  Lady,  with  a  strange 
questioning  look  that  turned  from  face  to  face,  — '  do 
I  ?  —  Great  God  !  I  do.'  She  sank  upon  her  knees 
and  buried  her  face  in  her  trembling  hands.  'The 
truth  has  come  to  me  at  last,  - —  I  do  ! ' 

"  Her   voice   was   a   mere   whisper,  but    every  ear 


THE  LADY  OF  LITTLE  FISHING.  381 

heard  it,  and  every  eye  saw  the  crimson  rise  to  the 
forehead  and  redden  the  white  throat. 

"For  a  moment  there  was  silence,  broken  only  by 
the  hard  breathing  of  the  men.  Then  the  Doctor 
spoke. 

" '  Go  out  and  bring  him  in,'  he  cried.  '  Bring  in 
this  Mitchell !  It  seems  he  has  other  things  to  do, 
—  the  blockhead!' 

"Two  of  the  men  hurried  out. 

"'He  shall  not  have  her,'  shouted  Black  Andy. 
*  My  knife  shall  see  to  that ! '  And  he  pressed  close  to 
the  platform.  A  great  tumult  arose,  men  talked  angrily 
and  clinched  their  fists,  voices  rose  and  fell  together. 
'He  shall  not  have  her,  —  Mitchell !  Mitchell ! ' 

"'The  truth  is,  each  one  of  you  wants  her  him 
self,'  said  the  Doctor. 

"  There  was  a  •  sudden  silence,  but  every  man  eyed 
his  neighbor  jealously.  Black  Andy  stood  in  front, 
knife  in  hand,  and  kept  guard.  The  Lady  had  not 
moved ;  she  was  kneeling,  with  her  face  buried  in 
her  hands. 

" '  I  wish  to  speak  to  her,'  said  the  Doctor,  ad 
vancing. 

" '  You  shall  not,'  cried  Andy,  fiercely  interposing. 

" '  You  fool !  I  love  her  this  moment  ten  thousand 
times  more  than  you  do.  But  do  you  suppose  I 
would  so  much  as  touch  a  woman  who  loved  another 
man?' 


382  THE  LADY  OF  LITTLE  FISHING. 

"  The  knife  dropped ;  the  Doctor  passed  on  and 
took  his  place  on  the  platform  by  the  Lady's  side. 
The  tumult  began  again,  for  Mitchell  was  seen  com 
ing  in  the  door  between  his  two  keepers. 

" '  Mitchell !  Mitchell ! '  rang  angrily  through  the 
church. 

" '  Look,  woman  ! '  said  the  Doctor,  bending  over 
the  kneeling  figure  at  his  side.  She  raised  her  head 
and  saw  the  wolfish  faces  below. 

" '  They  have  had  ten  months  of  your  religion,'  he 
said. 

"It  was  his  revenge.  Bitter,  indeed;  but  he  loved 
her. 

"In  the  mean  time  the  man  Mitchell  was  hauled 
and  pushed  and  tossed  forward  to  the  platform  by 
rough  hands  that  longed  to  throttle  him  on  the 
way.  At  last,  angry  himself,  but  full  of  wonder, 
he  confronted  them,  this  crowd  of  comrades  sud 
denly  turned  madmen !  '  What  does  this  mean  ? '  he 
asked. 

"  '  Mean  !  mean  ! '  shouted  the  men  ;  '  a  likely 
story  !  He  asks  what  this  means  ! '  And  they 
laughed  boisterously. 

"  The  Doctor  advanced.  '  You  see  this  woman/  he 
said. 

" '  I  see  our  Lady.' 

" '  Our  Lady  no  longer ;  only  a  woman  like  any 
other,  —  weak  and  fickle.  Take  her,  —  but  begone.' 


THE  LADY  OF  LITTLE  FISHING.  383 

" '  Take  her  ! '  repeated  Mitchell,  bewildered,  — '  take 
our  Lady  !  And  where  ? ' 

" '  Fool !  Liar  !  Blockhead  ! '  shouted  the  crowd 
below. 

" '  The  truth  is  simply  this,  Mitchell/  continued 
the  Doctor,  quietly.  '  We  herewith  give  you  up  our 
Lady,  —  ours  no  longer;  for  she  has  just  confessed, 
openly  confessed,  that  she  loves  you.' 

"  Mitchell  started  back.     '  Loves  me  ! ' 

" '  Yes.' 

"  Black  Andy  felt  the  blade  of  his  knife.  '  He  11 
never  have  her  alive,'  he  muttered. 

" '  But/  said  Mitchell,  bluntly  confronting  the  Doc 
tor,  '  I  don't  want  her.' 

"'You  don't  want  her?' 

"'I  don't  love  her.' 

" '  You  don't  love  her  ? ' 

" '  Not  in  the  least/  he  replied,  growing  angry, 
perhaps  at  himself.  '  What  is  she  to  me  ?  Nothing. 
A  very  good  missionary,  no  doubt ;  but  /  don't 
fancy  woman-preachers.  You  may  remember  that  1 
never  gave  in  to  her  influence ;  /  was  never  under 
her  thumb.  /  was  the  only  man  in  Little  Fishing 
who  cared  nothing  for  her ! ' 

"And  that  is  the  secret  of  her  liking/  murmured 
the  Doctor.  '  O  woman  !  woman  !  the  same  the  world 
over ! ' 

"In  the  mean  time  the  crowd  had  stood  stupefied. 


384  THE  LADY  OF  LITTLE  FISHING. 

" '  He  does  not  love  her  I '  they  said  to  each  other ; 
'  he  does  not  want  her  ! ' 

"  Andy's  black  eyes  gleamed  with  joy ;  he  swung 
himself  up  on  to  the  platform.  Mitchell  stood  there 
with  face  dark  and  disturbed,  but  he  did  not  flinch. 
Whatever  his  faults,  he  was  no  hypocrite.  '  I  must 
leave  this  to-night,'  he  said  to  himself,  and  turned 
to  go.  But  quick  as  a  flash  our  Lady  sprang  from 
her  knees  and  threw  herself  at  his  feet.  'You  are 
going,'  she  cried.  '  I  heard  what  you  said,  —  you  do 
not  love  me  !  But  take  me  with  you,  —  oh,  take  me 
with  you  !  Let  me  be  your  servant  —  your  slave  — 
anything  —  anything,  so  that  I  am  hot  parted  from 
you,  my  lord  and  master,  my  only,  only  love  ! ' 

"She  clasped  his  ankles  with  her  thin,  white  hands, 
and  laid  her  face  on  his  dusty  shoes. 

"  The  whole  audience  stood  dumb  before  this  mani 
festation  of  a  great  love.  Enraged,  bitter,  jealous  as 
was  each  heart,  there  was  not  a  man  but  would  at 
that  moment  have  sacrificed  his  own  love  that  she 
might  be  blessed.  Even  Mitchell,  in  one  of  those 
rare  spirit-flashes  when  the  soul  is  shown  bare  in  the 
lightning,  asked  himself, '  Can  I  not  love  her  ? '  But 
the  soul  answered,  '  No.'  He  stooped,  unclasped  the 
clinging  hands,  and  turned  resolutely  away. 

"'You  are  a  fool,'  said  the  Doctor.  'No  other 
woman  will  ever  love  you  as  she  does.' 

'"I  know  it,'  replied  Mitchell. 


THE   LADY  OF  LITTLE  FISHING.  385 

"He  stepped  down  from  the  platform  and  crossed 
the  church,  the  silent  crowd  making  a  way  for  him 
as  he  passed  along ;  he  went  out  into  the  sunshine, 
through  the  village,  down  towards  the  beach, — they 
saw  him  no  more. 

"  The  Lady  had  fainted.  The  men  bore  her  back  to 
the  lodge  and  tended  her  with  gentle  care  one  week, 
—  two  weeks,  —  three  weeks.  Then  she  died. 

"  They  were  all  around  her ;  she  smiled  upon  them 
all,  and  called  them  all  by  name,  bidding  them  fare 
well.  '.Forgive  me,'  she  whispered  to  the  Doctor. 
The  Nightingale  sang  a  hymn,  sang  as  he  had  never 
sung  before.  Black  Andy  knelt  at  her  feet.  For 
some  minutes  she  lay  scarcely  breathing ;  then  sud 
denly  she  opened  her  fading  eyes.  'Friends,'  she 
murmured,  'I  am  well  punished.  I  thought  myself 
holy,  —  I  held  myself  above  my  kind,  —  but  God  has 
shown  me  I  am  the  weakest  of  them  all/ 

"The  next  moment  she  was  gone. 

"The  men  buried  her  with  tender  hands.  Then, 
in  a  kind  of  blind  fury  against  Fate,  they  tore  down 
her  empty  lodge  and  destroyed  its  every  fragment; 
in  their  grim  determination  they  even  smoothed  over 
the  ground  and  planted  shrubs  and  bushes,  so  that 
the  very  location  might  be  lost.  But  they  did  not 
stay  to  see  the  change.  In  a  month  the  camp  broke 
up  of  itself,  the  town  was  abandoned,  and  the  island 

deserted   for  good   and  all;   I  doubt  whether  any  of 
25 


386  THE   LADY   OF   LITTLE   FISHING. 

the  men  ever  came  back  or  even  stopped  when  pass 
ing  by.  Probably  I  am  the  only  one.  Thirty  years 
ago,  —  thirty  years  ago  ! " 

"That  Mitchell  was  a  great  fool,"  I  said,  after  a 
long  pause.  "  The  Doctor  was  worth  twenty  of  him ; 
for  that  matter,  so  was  Black  Andy.  I  only  hope 
the  fellow  was  well  punished  for  his  stupidity." 

"  He  was." 

"  0,  you  kept  track  of  him,  did  you  ? " 

"  Yes.  He  went  back  into  the  world,  and  the  woman 
he  loved  repulsed  him  a  second  time,  and  with  even 
more  scorn  than  before." 

"  Served  him  right." 

"  Perhaps  so ;  but  after  all,  what  could  he  do  ?  Love 
is  not  made  to  order.  He  loved  one,  not  the  other ; 
that  was  his  crime.  Yet,  —  so  strange  a  creature  is 
man,  —  he  came  back  after  thirty  years,  just  to  see  our 
Lady's  grave." 

"  What !     Are  you  —  " 

"I  am  Mitchell,  —  Eeuben  Mitchell." 


THE    END. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

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CIPCi.il  ATJON 
SEP  28  1935 

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AUG  2  9  2005 


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